


All the Education (that I missed)

by niniblack



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Sex, High School AU, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Roleplay, Sort Of, Student Laurent, Teacher Damen, sex in public places, so much roleplay, too much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/pseuds/niniblack
Summary: “There’s a new student today,” Nikandros says.“For my homeroom?” Damen asks.The kid who follows Nik in looks old enough to be a senior, and Damen’s first thought is sympathy for the kid having to transfer in the middle of his last year of school, then he gets a look at his face and nearly chokes on his own spit.It’s Laurent.Laurent, the amazing fuck from last night. The amazing fuck that Damen met a bar. The amazing fuck whose ass Damen ate less than twelve hours ago and made coffee for this very morning is standing in his classroom, wearing worn jeans and a band t-shirt and holding one of those brightly colored Swedish backpacks that half the kids seem to have.Fuck.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted to tumblr ages ago but I’m posting it here in hopes that it forces me into working on it again.
> 
> Title is from Hot for Teacher by Van Halen. For obvious reasons.

_ this bar is dead _

Damen checks his phone, but Nikandros still hasn’t replied to the text he sent fifteen minutes ago. It’s a Sunday night, so it’s really not that surprising that the bar is dead, and honestly Damen shouldn’t be here either. It’s 10 o’clock already and he has to be at work at 7:30 in the morning, but Kastor had posted a picture of himself and Jokaste – five months pregnant now – relaxing on a beach earlier today and Damen needs to drink away his sorrows. Doing it alone at home feels pathetic, hence the bar. At least here, he has the sympathetic bartender who is willing to listen in hopes of a better tip.

Nikandros is a horrible friend for not joining him.

Damen checks his phone again. He texts Nikandros:  _ youre an awful friend _

Nikandros actually texts him back this time.  _ Sorry busy with work. Block Kastor. _

_ i cant he’s my brother  
_ _ whats going on at work _

_ Brothers don’t steal your fiancée. Block him. I’ll fill you in later. Gotta go. As your boss I have to say don’t come in hungover enough that the kids notice. _

Damen sends him a thumbs up emoji back.

There’s a loud scraping sound as someone pulls out the barstool next to Damen. He turns to look. The bar is empty, and surely there’s some kind of social faux pas in sitting right next to someone.

Damen takes it back. The guy who just sat next to him is hot.  _ Really _ hot, not just whiskey-goggles-hot. Blond hair, pale skin, slim build, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolls up. He’d set a blazer and satchel down on the empty barstool next him. He looks young, maybe a college student or intern.

The bartender descends on the fresh customer before Damen can say anything.

“Vodka soda,” the man says. “Extra lime.”

“ID?”

He fishes out a wallet from his back pocket and takes the card out. “Thanks Laurent,” the bartender says, pronouncing the T at the end.

Hot bar guy – now dubbed Laurent – gives the bartender a tight smile as he takes his ID back. “Don’t forget the extra lime.”

“That was a truly heinous pronunciation,” Damen says. It’s not his best pickup line ever, but the bartender has given him an opening, he’s two old fashioneds into the night, his brother knocked up his fiancée and they’re on vacation in Greece, and dammit, he’s going to, as the kids in his class say, shoot his shot.

Laurent turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s French, right?” Damen asks.

“Yes,” Laurent says.

“I teach French,” Damen explains.

“Really?” Laurent asks. “You’re not about to say the line from Moulin Rouge and pretend that means you speak the language are you? Because I’ve heard that before.”

Damen switches to speaking French. “I figured I’d at least offer to buy you a drink before asking you to sleep with me.”

Laurent’s look is appraising, gaze sweeping over Damen’s body. “You have high hopes for tonight,” he says, also in French. The bartender returns with his drink and gives them an odd look.

“Well, you did sit down next me, instead of any of the other twenty open seats at this bar. I feel good about my chances.”

Laurent squeezes his two limes into his drink and swirls it a bit with a straw before taking a sip. He keeps his gaze locked with Damen’s while he drinks, and doesn’t break eye-contact as he sets the glass down, swallows, and licks his lips.

“I’ve had a long day at work,” he says. “Buy me dinner.”

Damen signals the bartender to ask for a menu.

\- - -

They start kissing in the elevator on the way up to Damen’s apartment. At the door, as Damen’s fumbling with the key, Laurent leans against his back and sucks a hickie beneath his ear.

Damen manages not to drop the keys and gets the door open. He drags Laurent inside, swings the door shut, and slams Laurent back up against it, kissing him hungrily. Laurent tastes like lime from the four vodka sodas he’d downed at the bar. Damen sucks Laurent’s lower lip between his teeth and Laurent’s nails scrape against Damen’s scalp as he tugs at Damen’s hair. 

Laurent’s blazer gets in the way as Damen tries to kiss down his jaw, so that winds up on the floor. Laurent scrambles at the buttons of his own shirt, undoing them quicker than Damen could, and soon his shirt lands next to his blazer, leaving just a thin, tight tank top. As soon as his shirt is off he reaches for Damen again, arms winding around his neck and pulling him back down insistently until their mouths meet again.

Damen takes advantage of the new ease of access, one hand sliding around Laurent’s waist, under the tank top, cool against Laurent’s warm skin, and the other slides up the front, until he can roll one of Laurent’s nipples between his fingers. Laurent arches into the touch, back bowing.

Laurent’s tugging insistently at Damen’s t-shirt, and they have to separate for Damen to yank that over his head. He’s back on Laurent the second it’s off, and as he licks his way along Laurent’s throat he can feel the vibration as Laurent asks, “Were you planning to fuck me against the door, or is there a bed in here somewhere?”

Damen pulls back to grin at him. “You like your creature comforts, don’t you?”

Laurent reaches out to tweak the nipple piercing that Damen had gotten on a drunken whim during college. “That’s fun,” he says.

“You have no idea.”

Laurent leans forward, hands cools against Damen’s ribs, and blows over Damen’s nipple. It hardens. Then Damen’s left staring at just the top of Laurent’s blond head as he seals his lips over Damen’s nipple, tongue playing expertly with the piercing as  he sucks.

The sensation feels like it has a direct line to his cock.

Laurent pulls away, looking up at Damen with a smirk. “So about the bed…”

Laurent loses his tank top on the way to the bedroom, and both their shoes and pants get left in the hallway. Damen’s not drunk, really. He’s buzzed, pleasantly so, but he  _ feels _ drunk on Laurent. He can’t keep his hands off him, letting go for only long enough to remove another item of clothing. Laurent seems to feel the same way, if the way he’s clinging to Damen as they stumble down the hall and leaving scratches across his back is any indication. Laurent’s pale skin shows marks easily, and Damen’s mouth has already raised red circles along his neck and collarbones. They might not last, but Damen likes the way they look now.

Damen has a really nice bed. King size, silk sheets, a fluffy duvet. It even has accent pillows. As soon as Laurent sees it he detaches himself for Damen and climbs onto it, proceeding to crawl across it until he reaches the middle. He’s down to just boxer briefs, and Damen is struck momentarily dumb as he stands at the foot of the bed and watches him. Laurent’s ass is exquisite.

Laurent flips around, sitting nearly dead center on the bed. He’s got one leg tucked up next to him, but the other is sprawled out along the sheets. “You’re staring,” he says.

“I think you wanted me to.”

Laurent tilts his head in acknowledgement. “You do have condoms and lube, right?”

Damen gestures towards the nightstand.

Like he’d been hoping, Laurent crawls toward the nightstand to find the supplies. He tosses more than one condom over his shoulder to land on the bed – Damen raises an eyebrow – and then says, “Is this flavored?”

Damen darts around the bed to snatch the lube from him, but Laurent clutches it to his chest. “I have regular stuff,” Damen tells him.

Laurent’s inspecting the label. “It says it tastes like strawberries. Does it?”

Damen doesn’t answer, because Laurent has already uncapped the lube and squeezed some onto his finger. He sticks his finger in his mouth, sucking hard on it, cheeks hollowing.

Damen has a fleeting thought about being in over his head, and quickly dismisses it.

“It’s kind of like strawberry candy,” Laurent says, after pulling his finger from his mouth with a  _ pop _ . “Not real strawberries.” He sounds disappointed.

“I have normal stuff,” Damen says again.

“No, I like this one,” Laurent says.

Damen leans over nudge the drawer shut before Laurent can keep digging through it.

Laurent raises an eyebrow at him questioningly, and Damen finds himself saying, “Unless you wanted to use the handcuffs?” before he’s quite thought it through.

“Kinky,” Laurent says, with a note of approval in his tone. “But we haven’t even discussed a safeword,” he adds teasingly.

“Mine is pineapple,” Damen says.

That seems to bring Laurent up short. “Pineapple?”

“It’s–“ Damen starts to attempt an explanation, which is rooted in an old in-joke between himself and Jokaste, but finds himself shrugging instead. “Yes.”

Laurent still has a slightly confused look on his face, but just says, “Okay,” and reaches out for Damen. “Come here, you’re too far away.”

Damen steps closer, knees bumping against the side of the bed. “I’m six inches away.”

“Yes, well,” Laurent says, “that’s too far away for me to slather you in this strawberry lube and suck your cock, so you need to be closer.”

Slathering Damen in the strawberry lube, thankfully, involves slathering just his cock. Laurent’s eyes widen a bit when he tugs Damen’s boxers down. The appreciative expressions remains while he uses one hand to slick Damen’s cock with lube – the artificial strawberry scent is going to linger, Damen thinks – but when he glances up and catches sight of Damen’s smirk he shakes his head and pushes Damen away a bit with a shove to his stomach, smearing lube there as well.

“What?” Damen asks, not quite laughing.

“It’s better this way,” Laurent says, flipping over on his back and scooting towards the edge of the bed. Damen catches onto the position he’s going for once he hangs his head off the side of the bed. Laurent’s hair brushes his jawline normally, but like this it hangs nearly to the floor in a sheet of silky gold that Damen can’t seem to look away from. At least not until Laurent reaches out and clasps a hand around his hip, drawing him back in closer.

“Won’t all the blood rush to your head?” Damen asks.

“Mmm hmm,” Laurent murmurs, attention already intent on Damen’s cock.

Damen’s seen this position done in porn before, but never tried it himself with anyone. Jokaste had tried once and said her neck hurt before they’d even gotten started. Laurent doesn’t seem to be having that issue. He’s stroking Damen’s cock with one hand, still slick with the lube, and working his way from the base to the tip with open mouthed, sloppy kisses.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Damen says. “I’m just concerned. I wouldn’t want you to blackout or anything. I mean, this was your idea and as long you’re comfortable with it then I’m comfortable with it. Did you have a safeword? You didn’t say. Do you want to use pineapple too? But if you were choking or something you wouldn’t be able to say it, so maybe we need a hand gesture? Do you know any sign language?”

Laurent pulls back from where he’s been using his tongue to prob at the slit at of Damen’s cock, lifting his head and twisting a bit to meet Damen’s eyes. “Do you always talk this much during blow jobs?”

“No.”

Laurent gives him a long look. Damen tries to smile encouragingly.

“If it’s too much I’ll let you know,” Laurent promises, then he lays back down and wraps his lips around the head of Damen’s cock and sucks hard, and Damen’s not quite sure what they were even talking about anymore.

Laurent is  _ really _ good at blow jobs. He sucks cock like he’s giving a dissertation on it, throwing in every technique in a methodological way like he’s trying to figure out what Damen likes best, and paying enough attention to how Damen reacts to know which things to repeat and which to leave behind. He returns to tonguing the slit several times, and takes Damen in deep, sucking hard, and with this angle and this position it means that Damen’s cock is sliding into Laurent’s throat. Damen can see the bulge of it through the skin, but Laurent gives little sign that it’s choking him, and if anything seems to be enjoying it for that very reason.

Damen’s not sure what to do with his hands. He winds up bent over a bit, hands fisted in the bedsheets, trying to let Laurent keep setting the pace and not just give in to what he wants and start fucking his face.

“Laurent,” he finally chokes out. “Laurent, I’m gonna--“

Laurent pulls away, gasping for breath and tears leaking from his eyes, one hand wrapped firmly around the base of Damen’s cock. “Don’t,” he gasps out, voice hoarse.

Damen nearly cries himself. Everything in his body feels like it’s been building towards orgasm, only to be brutally denied. He feels completely on edge, and even the cooler air feels torturous against his cock after Laurent’s mouth.

Damen collapses onto the bed bonelessly. He watches as Laurent sits up, tilting his head and stretching his neck, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. His pupils are blown wide and he looks fairly wrecked just from giving a blow job.

Damen pulls on Laurent’s arm, making Laurent fall against him, and keeps pulling on him until they’re at an angle where Damen can kiss him. Laurent tastes overwhelming like strawberry lube, but it can’t quite mask the distinctive taste of pre-cum underneath. It just makes Damen want to kiss him harder.

“I want to fuck you,” Damen tell him, mouths still close enough that Laurent’s breath is warm against his lips.

“I’d never have guessed,” Laurent says, forehead dropping to rest against Damen’s shoulder.

Damen pokes him in the ribs, and Laurent laughs. He rolls over, onto his back, and wiggles out of the boxer-briefs he’s still wearing. Damen’s not sure where they land, somewhere across the room.

With Laurent spread out completely naked on his bed now, Damen feels like he can’t do anything but roll over on top of him, propping himself up above Laurent on his elbows so that he doesn’t crush him. 

Laurent hooks his ankles behind Damen’s knees, canting his hips up so that their cocks slide against each other. “Missionary?” Laurent asks.

“Sometimes the basics are good,” Damen says. For once thing, this position makes it very easy to kiss Laurent, and Damen takes advantage of it to lick his way into his mouth again, before trailing a row of kisses down Laurent’s jaw to his neck.

“Oh? I hope you’re going to prove that to me.”

Damen pulls back from where he’s been leaving a hickey low along Laurent’s collarbone. “Is that a challenge?”

Laurent stretches his arms above his head languidly, before waving one wrist like a lord would at a minion.

Damen laughers. “What did you do with the lube?”

“It’s… somewhere around here.”

Damen finds it under a pillow, and sets to work fingering Laurent open. Laurent seems determined to act unaffected by everything, and only creases his brow when Damen strokes a slick finger over his hole, again and again, and barely changes expression when Damen works his first finger in to the second knuckle. At the second finger, Damen finally gives in and asks how it is, and Laurent says, “Adequate.”

“Laurent…” Damen whines.

“Well, you’re not blowing my mind here, Damen.”

Damen pulls his fingers out.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Laurent says. He starts to say something else, but Damen grasps his hips and flips him over in one move, dropping Laurent back onto the bed on his stomach. “The  _ fuck _ ?” Laurent demands, squirming to get his arms under him and twisting to look over his shoulder at Damen.

Damen keeps manhandling him, until Laurent’s on his knees, ass in the air.

“What are you doing?” Laurent asks. He sounds suspicious, but he hasn’t told Damen to stop.

“Blowing your mind,” Damen says. Then he leans in, hands spreading Laurent’s ass cheeks wide, and licks over his hole.

“If you wanted to try rimming you could have just  _ said _ ,” Laurent tells him. “You didn’t have to toss me around like a brute. You could have asked.”

Damen pulls back from where he’s been working both his tongue and one finger into Laurent at the same time. “Do you always talk this much when someone is eating you out?”

Laurent kicks him in the thigh with a heel, and Damen nearly doubles over. “ _ Shit _ , that’s gonna bruise,” he complains, using one hand to pin Laurent’s ankle down to the bed.

“Good,” Laurent says. There’s a long pause. “Well, get back to it.” He wiggles his ass, which is still right in Damen’s face, for emphasis.

Damen can’t help it, he laughs. “Yes, your highness.”

In the spirit of trying to blow Laurent’s mind, Damen pulls out all the tricks he knows when it comes to eating ass. He uses his tongue and fingers, working Laurent’s prostate until all he can do is moan, and mixes it up with a loud slap to Laurent’s ass to gets him a sharp glance over the shoulder, but still no order to stop. It takes Damen a bit to work it out, since Laurent won’t say what he actually wants, but, for all his talk and show of bravado, Laurent seems to actually respond the most to the softer touches. So Damen varies his approach. A slap or a harsh twist of his fingers followed by a gentle stroke, a ghosting touch along the inner thigh that makes Laurent shudder.

“Oh, god,” Laurent groans out, as Damen works three fingers over his prostate. “That’s… I need–“ Whatever he’s trying to say dissolves into another moan.

“Yes?” Damen asks, his other hand stroking lightly up Laurent’s back, raising goosebumps in its wake.

“Would you just fuck me already?” Laurent demands.

Damen feels like he’s been hard forever at this point, so he’s more than ready honestly. He pulls his fingers out, gropes around for the condoms that are… somewhere around here.

“Damen…” Laurent groans, head falling forward against the bed. “This is  _ enough _ foreplay already.  _ Enough _ .”

“Just– just a second,” Damen says, finding the condoms and getting one on.

“I swear to god,” Laurent’s saying, “If you don’t get your cock in me in the next five seconds I will find someone else in this building who will. Who’s your neighbor? Is he hot? You know what? It doesn’t matter. Does he have a working penis? Because at this point I am–“

Damen lines up his cock against Laurent hole and sinks halfway in with one sharp thrust. Laurent’s voice dissolves into a keening whine. “You talk too much,” Damen tells him, grabbing hold of Laurent’s hips and thrusting again until he’s buried to the root.

Laurent wiggles underneath him. “Come on then.”

Damen pulls out nearly all the way, and slams back in hard enough to bang the headboard against the wall. Laurent’s breath comes out in a pant, hands fisting in the sheets.

“This isn’t–” whatever Laurent is trying to say is interrupted every time Damen slams into him, but he keeps going, “the mind-blowing– aahh missionary– sex I was– oh fuck– promised.”

Damen’s not sure what possesses him to do what he does next, but he’s pulling out of Laurent – Laurent protests, loudly – and using his grip on Laurent’s hips to flip him over onto his back. Laurent lands on with a bounce, air knocked out of him. Damen takes hold of one of his legs, fingers hooked behind his knee, and raises it nearly to Laurent’s chest. With his other hand he lines his cock back up with Laurent’s hole and slams back in.

Laurent shouts so loudly that Damen’s certain his neighbors have heard it. He doesn’t care.

This position  _ is _ better, Damen decides. This way, he can see that the flush on Laurent’s cheeks spreads all the way down his chest, that his pupils are blown wide and mouth is open as he gasps in pleasure. Damen keeps hold of Laurent’s leg, and braces his other hand on the bed next to Laurent’s face, blanketing him with his body.

Laurent reaches between them, taking hold of his own cock and stroking, not quite in time with Damen’s thrusts. It’s not long before he comes with a groan, head thrown back, and Damen keeps fucking him through it.

As Laurent comes down from his orgasm he says, “Are you even close yet? Or do you just have the stamina of a Greek god too?”

Damen’s out of breath, and he is close, pleasure building inside him until he feels about ready to burst, but he manages to ask, with a gasp, “Too?”

Laurent squeezes down around him, and Damen comes with a shout, falling forward and resting his forehead against Laurent’s chest.

Afterwards, he collapses on his stomach next to Laurent, legs still tangled together, trying to catch his breath. Laurent shoves at his shoulder until Damen rolls over onto his back, then slides in close, head pillowed on his chest and hair tickling Damen’s chin.

“Was that mind blowing missionary sex?” Damen asks.

“Shut up,” Laurent mumbles, slapping him weakly on the stomach.

\- - -

It’s still dark when Damen wakes up. Or mostly dark – the light peeking around the curtains is definitely of the pre-dawn quality, which is earlier than his alarm usually goes off. It isn’t until he hears the muffled ringtone coming from the hallway again that he realizes what woke him.

Next to him, Laurent shoots upright. “Oh fuck.”

“Good morning,” Damen says, bemused.

Laurent scrambles with the sheets, fighting his way out from under them. “What time is it?” he asks, stumbling to his feet.

Damen glances at the clock on his nightstand. “Five-ish.”

“Fuck,” Laurent says again. He’s found his boxers, and hops around as he pulls them on. “Where are my pants?”

Damen leans back against the headboard before gesturing towards the hallway. If memory serves, they’d left a trail of clothes behind them on their way to the bedroom. Laurent’s pants could be anywhere between here and the front door.

Laurent finds a sock on the floor of the bedroom and pulls that on too before disappearing into the hall.

“Do you want coffee or something?” Damen calls after him. He takes a moment to stretch his arms overhead, muscles straining pleasantly, and tilts his head to the side until his neck cracks.

“Cream and sugar,” Laurent calls back, voice muffled.

Damen spots Laurent holding up a wrinkled pair of slacks, looking dismayed, as he heads towards the kitchen. “There’s an ironing board behind that door there,” Damen says, pointing.

Laurent turns to thank him, realizes that Damen didn’t get dressed to make the coffee, and blushes.

Damen smirks. “Cream and sugar, right?”

“Uh… yes, please.”

“Coming right up.”

By the time the coffee’s done, Laurent has ironed his pants and shirt and finished dressing. Damen hands him a mug as he comes into the kitchen.

“Mmm, thanks,” Laurent says, sipping at it. His eyes keep straying to stare at Damen’s piercing, before jerking back up to his face.

“Early day at work?” Damen asks.

“Start of a new project,” Laurent says. He starts drinking the coffee in gulps, and sets it down when he’s only drunk a little over half. “I’m going to be late,” he says, starting to turn away.

“Hey, wait,” Damen says, grabbing his sleeve to tug him back. Laurent turns, and when he does Damen leans down to kiss him. Laurent arches into it, reaching up to wrap one hand around the back of Damen’s neck.

“I’m gonna be really late,” he mumbles against Damen’s lips, when he pulls back a bit.

“I could call you a car,” Damen offers.

“I’ve got it,” Laurent says, stepping back, firmly out of Damen’s reach this time. There’s a quirk to his lips. “Where’s your phone?” he asks.

Damen blinks at the non-sequitur. “Uh… somewhere around here.”

Laurent shakes his head, then pulls his own phone out and hands it to Damen. “Your number,” he explains.

“Oh!” Damen can feel the stupid grin on his face, and tries to suppress it as he types his number in. “Here.”

Laurent tucks the phone back into his pocket. He reaches for the coffee again and takes a last gulp before saying, “Okay, my boss is going to have a heart attack if I’m late today.” He leans up and pecks Damen on the lips then nearly runs out the door.

Damen follows him towards it, which is how he spots Laurent’s bag lying on the floor by the door. He grabs it and leans out into the hallway. “Hey! Your bag!”

Laurent jogs back over, grabs the bag, kisses him again, and turns to run away again, saying, “Put some pants on before your neighbors complain, Damen.”

“They don’t complain about it!” Damen calls after him, but Laurent has already disappeared down the stairwell.


	2. Chapter 2

Damen winds up getting to work early, since he’s up earlier than usual. A glance through Nikandros’ office window shows him looking harried, talking to someone official in a suit. Maybe they’re doing a drill or something today. Or bringing the dogs in to search for drugs again. Usually they give the teachers a heads-up about that kind of thing, though.

Damen’s homeroom is uneventful until Nikandros stops by towards the end. “There’s a new student today,” Nikandros says, standing just inside the doorway to Damen’s classroom.

Ah, maybe the official looking suit guy from earlier had been a parent then.

“For my homeroom?” Damen asks.

Nikandros nods. “He’ll be in your senior French class too,” he says, stepping further into the room.

The kid who follows him in looks old enough to be a senior, and Damen’s first thought is sympathy for the kid having to transfer in the middle of his last year of school, then he gets a look at his face and nearly chokes on his own spit.

It’s Laurent.

Laurent, the amazing fuck from last night. The amazing fuck that Damen met a bar. The amazing fuck whose ass Damen ate less than twelve hours ago and made coffee for this very morning is standing in his classroom, wearing khakis and a schoolboy blazer and holding one of those brightly colored Swedish backpacks that half the kids seem to have.

Laurent’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second when he sees Damen, but then he’s back to looking bored and unaffected, barely looking at Damen and instead eyeing the other kids in the room.

“Mr. Akielon,” Nikandros hisses, making it clear that this isn’t the first time he’s said Damen’s name and that Damen’s brain has blocked everything out as it short-circuited.

“Uh…” Damen says.

“This is Laurent Marlas,” Nikandros explains. He’s giving Damen an odd look now, but Damen can’t stop staring at Laurent. “Go ahead and find a seat, Laurent. I need to discuss your schedule with Mr. Akielon.”

“Whatever,” Laurent says, heading towards the back of the room.

Nikandros nearly drags Damen out of the room. “What was that?” Nikandros demands, as soon as the door swings shut and they’re alone in the hallway.

Damen tries to make his brain work again. He looks at Nikandros’ suspicious expression and realizes in that moment that he cannot say  _ I fucked that new student last night cos I thought he was in college _ . Damen likes his job. No, he  _ loves _ his job. He loves teaching and he loves languages and he loves helping kids and seeing the light go off when things finally fall into place for them. The pay is shit, sure, but he doesn’t do this for the pay. He doesn’t want to lose his job and go to prison for sleeping with a student, which is what’s going to happen if he tells Nikandros, because Nikandros is his friend but also a high school principal. He won’t cover this up for Damen, and Damen wouldn’t want him to anyway.

Damen swallows hard and forces himself to say, “Nothing, I was just surprised. He reminded me of someone.”

Nikandros’ expression drops from suspicious to a mix of exasperated and sympathetic. “You can’t let every blonde you see remind you of Jokaste.”

Funnily enough, Damen hasn’t thought of Jokaste at all since he met Laurent last night. But he latches onto the excuse. “It’s just really fresh after yesterday,” he says.

Nikandros pats him on the arm. “Sorry I couldn’t meet up last night. How about after work today?”

“Sure,” Damen says. He gestures back at the classroom door. “Better make sure they haven’t set the place on fire yet…” He tries to smile. He probably fails, judging by Nikandros’ still sympathetic look.

“Okay,” Nikandros says. “See you later.”

Damen waits until he’s turned the corner before facing the door to the classroom again. This is… this is fine. He can do this. He just… needs to pretend nothing happened for the rest of the day, and then find a way to talk to Laurent alone so he can…

_ So you can what? _ a voice in his head asks.  _ Get him alone so you can fuck an underage student again? _

Damen turns away from the door and bangs his forehead against the cinderblock wall. It doesn’t make him feel better, or solve any of his many, many problems, but he does it a couple more times for good measure.

Then the bell rings, and the door next to him opens and the kids –  _ kids _ – from his homeroom come pouring out. Damen tries to lean against the wall casually and waves at them as they go.

Laurent isn’t among the flood of kids leaving and heading towards their next class. 

Damen steps back into the room warily, and finds Laurent lingering next to his desk, flipping through Damen’s planner.

“You’re really not supposed to touch stuff on my desk,” Damen says. It’s not what he meant to say at all.

Laurent looks up. He looks younger than he did last night, but Damen isn’t sure if it’s the clothes or the setting or if he really is seventeen and last night was just him faking being older. Damen  _ knows _ he saw Laurent show his ID to purchase to a drink, which means he should have been at least 21, but maybe he’d been using a fake ID. He had mentioned heading to work and having a boss, but that could have been a lie too.

Right now, at this moment, Laurent looks like every other seventeen-year-old in the building.

“Shut the door,” Laurent tells him.

Damen closes the door and flicks the lock, but says, “I have another class on the way.”

Laurent looks back down at the planner. “Spanish II?” He runs a finger down the rest of the page. “I’ll be back here for French class later. That’s the end of the day. We can talk after.” He looks back at Damen. “Don’t tell anyone you met me before this morning. You have no idea what’s at stake.”

“ _ I _ have no idea what’s at stake?” Damen scoffs. “My entire goddamn career, for one. A lengthy prison sentence. A spot on the sex offender registry. I’m sure a jury of my peers could add to that.”

Laurent waves a hand dismissively – he looks older, suddenly, like maybe the teenage outfit is the act – and opens his mouth to say something, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“That’s my next class,” Damen says.

“We’ll talk later,” Laurent promises. He grabs his backpack off the floor and slings it over one shoulder, heading to the door and unlocking it. Three of the sophomore girls from Damen’s Spanish class are outside waiting, and Laurent turns to say, “Bye Mr. Akielon, thanks for the directions,” in an overly cheery voice before pushing past them and heading off down the hall.

\- - -

It’s the longest Monday of Damen’s entire life. The clock ticks at a glacial pace as he muddles his way through his classes. If the kids notice that he’s not paying much attention, none of them mention it. Damen’s too preoccupied with trying to remember everything he can about last night and figure out this mess to notice if they did anyway.

He has a list in his head. He doesn’t dare write it down, in case anyone saw it.

Fact 1) Laurent ordered a drink in a bar. Multiple drinks. The bartender asked for his ID and accepted whatever Laurent showed him as proof that Laurent was old enough to drink. Therefore, Laurent is over 21, and Damen has not committed any felonies.

Fact 2) Laurent was way too good at giving head for a teenager. Damen knows this because he was once a teenager, and knows that teenagers are selfish when it comes to sex. This isn’t as definitive as purchasing alcohol, but Damen feels good about this as evidence in the not-a-felon category.

Fact 3) Laurent had talked about a job and a boss. Only adults talk about work like that. But he never mentioned what the job was. Damen files this in the maybe column.

Fact 4) Laurent  _ looked _ like a teenager this morning. If Damen hadn’t seen him last night, he never would have doubted that he belonged in high school. He’d looked young last night, too, but not  _ that _ young. Lots of people looked younger than they really were. Hell, there were 30-year-old actors who played teenagers in movies. Damen filed this off to the side. Clearly he can not judge Laurent’s age on appearances alone. Down that path lead ruin.

Fact 5) Damen is starting to suspect that Laurent is fucking with him. Evidence: Laurent is currently sitting in the back of Damen’s senior level French class, accepting a lollipop from Nicaise, the delinquent freshman who wound up in this class because he’s fluent and no one knew where else to put him.

“Do you have strawberry?” Laurent asks.

Nicaise digs through the bag, and emerges with a pink candy.

Laurent unwraps it and pops it in mouth, keeping ahold of the stick. He catches Damen’s eye and hollows his cheeks.

“Nicaise,” Damen says. “No candy unless you have enough for the whole class.”

Nicaise frowns at him. “I’m not giving any to these losers,” he says, tucking the bag back into his backpack.

“Should have thought of that before sharing with Laurent. Bring it here.” Damen holds out a hand, and keeps it there until Nicaise grudgingly gets up and throws the bag at him.

“What bug crawled up your ass?” Nicaise asks.

“Language,” Damen says.

Nicaise repeats himself in French, looking Damen straight in the eye as he does it.

Laurent’s grinning. “Maybe he just needs to get laid,” he mutters to Nicaise.

Nicaise’s face lights up in unholy glee at having a partner in crime. “Who would fuck him though? He’s not even attractive.”

Laurent’s eyes flick back over to Damen. “You never know.”

“If you two are quite done,” Damen says.

Laurent holds up his hands, lollipop between his lips, still grinning.

One of the other kids, Ancel, leans forward across his desk. “Are you gonna pass out the candy or not?”

Ancel is sitting in front of Nicaise, and Nicaise kicks his foot at the leg of Ancel’s desk, hitting it hard enough that it start to tilt to the side and Ancel shrieks before righting it. “You little shit!”

“I didn’t bring it for you! Get your own damn snacks,” Nicaise tells him.

“Mr. A just said he was going to share with the whole class.”

Damen feels like throwing the candy at them all right now, honestly. This is hands down his worst class of the day, and it’s not even due to the recent of the addition of the maybe-student he’s going to go to jail for fucking. Somehow this end of the day, senior level French class wound up full of kids who either know the language well enough not to need the class, or are so bad at it that they shouldn’t have passed the previous year and only made it in because the counselors needed to fill up schedules. Nicaise and Ancel are the worst of the lot, bickering with each other one minute and trading lip gloss the next, and somehow Laurent has already fallen in with them.

It’s ten minutes into class now and so far Nicaise is the only one to have spoken any French beyond  _ bonjour _ so Damen switches to French to tell them all, “You can earn the candy. Who did their homework and can go conjugate the imperfect form of  _ être _ on the board?”

Nicaise rolls his eyes and mutters something to Laurent that Damen can’t hear. Laurent laughs.

“No volunteers? What about you, Laurent?” Normally Damen wouldn’t pick on anyone on their first day, but this feels like an unusual situation in every regard. “Want to give it a try?”

Laurent frowns at him, and then says, with an atrocious American accent he definitely didn’t have last night, “ _ Je parle un _ …  _ peu fra _ …  _ france _ ? French.” He caps this off by holding his hand up, thumb and index finger close together, and repeating, “ _ Un peu _ .”

Damen stares at him, stunned. 

“ _ Français _ ,” Nicaise supplies, snickering.

“Right, that.” Laurent says. He shrugs. “They asked if I knew any French. They didn’t ask how much.”

Nicaise leans forward to poke Ancel. “Finally someone at your level.”

Ancel swings around and nearly clocks him, but Nicaise ducks, laughing.

“Boys!” Damen yells, glaring until they settle back into their seats.

They get through the rest of class. Damen winds up tossing a sucker to anyone who can give a correct answer – mostly Erasmus and Kallias, who sit in the front and are always really earnest about learning. Nicaise interrupts occasionally to mock someone’s pronunciation, and all Damen can do is tell him to stop being rude because he’s not actually  _ wrong _ . 

He doesn’t call on Laurent again until after the bell rings, when he says, “Laurent, stay after for a minute.”

Nicaise demands the rest of his candy back before he’ll leave, but then it’s just Damen and Laurent left in the room. Laurent lounges back in his chair and puts his feet on his desk.

“ _ Un peu français _ ?” Damen asks.

Laurent shrugs.

“You spoke it pretty fluently last night.”

“You should really lock the door if you want to talk about that,” Laurent says, in perfect goddamn French.

Damen grits his teeth, but Laurent isn’t wrong, so he goes over and shuts the door, dropping the shade over the little window and engaging the lock.

“Is this going to be a thing then?” Laurent asks. “Asking me to stay after class and locking the door?”

“You just told me–” Damen cuts himself off with a huff of breath. “Is faking being bad at everything your new thing?”

Laurent drops his feet back to the floor and stands up in a fluid motion, making his way through the desks and towards Damen. “I’m not bad at anything,” Laurent says, right up in Damen’s personal space now.

Damen tries to take a step back, but the door is behind him. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cute when you’re teaching,” Laurent says. “Trying to look stern but failing miserably.” He grins, leaning further in, hands landing on Damen’s hips. “And the kids like you, even if they’re being brats.”

“Including you?” Damen asks.

Laurent makes an agreeable noise.

Damen reaches up and brushes Laurent’s hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “You’re a student.”

Laurent shrugs. “They told me not to fuck the other students. No one said anything about the teachers.”

“They– what?” Damen asks, but Laurent is ignoring him, fingers fumbling with Damen’s fly. “Wait,” he says, just as Laurent gets a hand into his pants.

“What?” Laurent asks, pausing.

“You’re a  _ student _ ,” Damen says again.

Laurent just looks confused.

“I can’t sleep with students,” Damen says.

Laurent frowns. “It’s after hours, I’m not a student anymore. It’s fine.”

“You… That is not how it works.”

Laurent purses his lips. “I was going to suck your cock again. Yes or no?” He gives said cock a squeeze, and Damen wishes he weren’t already half-hard just from being this close to him.

Damen’s going to hell. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well at this point. Nothing left to lose, right? He could probably come up with more idioms if he tried but he just nods.

Laurent squeezes his cock again and drops to his knees.

Damen’s pants are around his thighs and Laurent has just taken the head of his cock into his mouth when reality slams into Damen like a freight train. He shoves Laurent back with a firm push on his shoulders, and the sudden motion means he gets teeth scraping his dick painfully.

“No, no,” Damen says. “I can’t do this.”

“The fuck!” Laurent demands, from where he’s landed on his ass.

“You are a  _ student _ ,” Damen says. “I can’t sleep with you.”

“You already did!”

“And that was a mistake. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about just now. This is… this is bad.” Damen yanks his pants up, fumbling with his fly. “Look, I’ll get you moved to a different class. You don’t have to ever see me again. I  _ didn’t know _ . You were at the bar and you were–“

“Damen,” Laurent breaks in, stopping Damen’s rambling apology. “How old do you think I am?”

Damen blinks down at him. “If you’re a senior then you’re 17 or 18.”

“If I were a senior, yes,” Laurent says.

Damen stares down at him.

“Damen,” Laurent says, tone slow and patient. “I’m 25.”

Damen keeps staring. Finally, he manages to say, “What?”

“Did you actually think…?” Laurent shakes his head, laughing incredulously. “This morning you said– Damen, this is an op. I’m undercover.”

“I thought you were underage! I thought I was going to go to jail!” Damen nearly shouted.

Laurent’s still laughing. “You said this morning that you knew!”

“No, I didn’t! I said I was gonna go to prison this morning.” He glares down at Laurent. “This is not funny.”

“This is hilarious,” Laurent says, finally climbing back to his feet. “I thought you made me as soon as I walked in.”

“How?! I told you I was going to have to register as a sex offender.”

“I thought you were just being melodramatic,” Laurent says. “That’s why I told you not to say anything. We’ve been working on this case for months, I can’t afford for you to blow my cover.”

“I can’t believe you let me think I’d fucked a student all day,” Damen says.

Laurent tilts his head, giving Damen a considering look. “Did you still think I was a student just now, when you were going to let me suck you off?”

Damen sputters. “I suspected you weren’t.”

“Uh huh,” Laurent says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “This is kinkier than the handcuffs,  _ Mr. Akielon _ .”

“Please don’t,” Damen says.

Laurent leans in, hand skimming down Damen’s stomach towards his cock again, breath warm against Damen’s neck. “I think you’re getting–“

They’re interrupted by someone twisting the door handle, and knocking when they find it locked. “Damen, are you in there?”

“Shit, it’s Nik,” Damen whispers.

Laurent steps back. “Oh. He knows,” he says, also whispering. “But he can’t know that you know. This whole op has to be secret from the teachers.”

“What are you even undercover for?” Damen asks. Louder, he says, “Just a sec, Nik,” to the door. He pats down his front to make sure his pants are zipped.

Laurent crosses the room to grab his bag. “Drugs,” he says, answering Damen’s question.

Damen frowns. They’d had a student overdose last month, but he’d thought it was an isolated incident. “And Nik knows?”

The doorknob rattles again, so Damen reaches out to unlock it before Laurent can answer. “Hey Nik.”

Nikandros is frowning. “What’ve you been doing? Did you forget about drinks?”

“Oh, right! Um, no. No I was just…”

“He was helping me with some remedial French,” Laurent pipes up, coming to stand next to them. “I’m really far behind. My last school didn’t have such a good foreign language department.” He flashes Nikandros a bright smile, then turns it on Damen. “Thanks again, Mr. Akielon. Same time tomorrow?”

“Uh… I coach track on Tuesdays,” Damen says.

“I’ll find you out there then,” Laurent says. “Bye Mr. A, bye Mr. Delpha.” He waves over his shoulder as he walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

During classes the next day, Laurent continues to be an obnoxious little shit. He and Nicaise seem thick as thieves, while Ancel hovers on the periphery, a third wheel for once and none too happy about it. Laurent gives no indication that he knows Damen as anything more than his new teacher, and Damen follows his lead.

Then Damen goes to coach track after school, and Laurent emerges from the locker room clad in a t-shirt and the tiniest running shorts Damen as ever seen.

“Hi Coach,” he says, smiling brightly. “Can I try out?”

“Um…” Damen forces his gaze away from Laurent’s thighs. “Have you, uh… run track before?”

Laurent nods. “Hundred meter and anchor on the relay at my old school.”

Ancel is on the track team as well, and is glaring at Laurent. “You can’t just join in the middle of the season,” he says. 

“Well, he’s new,” Damen says. “I’m sure we can work something out. If you’re actually good.”

Ancel looks disgruntled at this answer.

“Just let me warm up for a bit,” Laurent says. Then he bends over into a hamstring stretch and his shorts ride up over his ass cheeks. If he’s got anything on under the shorts, it’s tiny enough not to show.

Damen turns away quickly, clearing his throat. “Come on, everyone! Let’s start with some laps.”

Practice is an exercise in self-restraint for Damen. He resolutely ignores the fact that his dick is half hard watching Laurent run and stretch in those barely there shorts, all while Laurent seems to be doing everything in his power to find a reason to bend over. Damen’s trying to talk to one of the sophomores when he catches sight of Laurent, holding onto the rail of the bleachers and stretching one leg along the bar. He’s nearly doing the splits. Damen stutters to a stop, staring, only to be brought back to the present by the sophomore waving a hand in front of his face.

At the end of practice, after Damen tells everyone great job and sends them off towards the locker rooms to change, Laurent lingers nearby.

“So, how did I do?” he asks.

Damen once again forces his eyes away from the long, pale expanse of Laurent’s legs, and says, “You didn’t really run track in school, did you?”

Laurent grins. “Swim team,” he says. “You don’t coach that too, do you?”

Damen’s picturing Laurent in a speedo now, emerging from the water dripping wet. “Track and wrestling,” he manages to say.

Laurent looks contemplative. “Wrestling sounds fun.”

Damen looks towards the heavens, but they offer him no help. He’s not entirely sure he’d want it if they did.

“You should go get changed,” Damen says.

Laurent looks towards the locker room. “Meet me there after everyone is gone.”

Damen frowns at him. “We  _ cannot _ fuck in the locker room.”

Laurent’s got that tiny half smile on his face. “Of course not,” he says. “That would be so inappropriate.”

Twenty minutes later the last of the boys trickles out of the locker room, and Damen wanders in to find Laurent laying on a bench, legs splayed on either side of it. He hasn’t changed out of his track outfit.

“Finally,” Laurent says. “Ancel took forever on his hair.”

“Laurent…” Damen starts. But he’s not sure what he even wants to say. Laying down like he is has caused Laurent’s shirt to ride up, and there’s an exposed bit of his stomach above the waistband of his shorts that Damen aches to touch. The shorts are still obscenely short, and his thighs on either side of the bench are pale and lean, smooth skin all the way down to his ankles. He still has on his tennis shoes.

Laurent sits up, still straddling the bench, and leans forward. “Sit down,” he says.

Damen sits, body twisted sideways to look at Laurent – he feels like he couldn’t look away if he tried. As soon as he sits Laurent slides up the bench until he’s plastered against Damen’s side. He feels warm, body heat radiating against Damen’s skin.

Laurent swings one leg over Damen’s lap, hooking his knee around Damen’s thigh, and Damen finds his hand lifting to clasp Laurent’s knee without entirely meaning to.

Laurent leans in close, lips nearly against Damen’s ear. “No one’s left at school,” he says.

Damen’s thumb traces a swirling pattern over Laurent’s knee. “Janitors, one or two teachers,” he says.

Laurent’s mouth is on his neck now, dry lips followed by a hint of teeth as he moves from Damen’s ear down his collarbone. “No one’s coming in here.”

“They could,” Damen says.

Laurent tilts his head, acknowledging that, and Damen can feel his smirk against his skin. “We’ll have to be quiet then.”

“Laurent…” Damen’s not sure what he even wants to say. He doesn’t get a chance, anyway, as Laurent’s mouth finds his. Damen turns, keeping hold of Laurent’s knee and raising his other hand to tangle in his hair and pull his head to the side, angling his mouth just right so that Damen can lick his way inside, wet and filthy.

It’s not a quiet kiss. It’s noisy and wet and when Damen pulls away a bit Laurent lets out a soft sound and tries to follow him, teeth tugging at Damen’s lower lip.

Damen pushes Laurent back down to lay on the bench, then turns to straddle it himself and pulls both of Laurent’s knees up over his thighs. Laurent’s heels dig into Damen’s back as he scoots himself forward, and Damen has to place a hand on his chest to keep him from sitting back up.

Laurent wiggles, ass brushing over Damen’s crotch. “Missionary again?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Damen laughs a bit. “I just want to look at you,” he says, hand sliding down Laurent’s body to the expanse of midriff that’s still showing. 

“You looked at me a lot during practice,” Laurent says.

Damen runs his fingers over Laurent’s skin, lightly, raising goosebumps, before shoving Laurent’s shirt up to bare his chest. Laurent’s stomach is rising and falling quickly, betraying his arousal, and Damen places his palms over the slight dip under Laurent’s ribs. His skin is warm, overly so, and smooth. Damen just keeps touching. The only sound Laurent makes is when he tweaks a nipple between his fingers, and he arches into the touch.

Damen trails his other hand over Laurent’s ruched up shirt and runs his fingers over his collarbone, before splaying his palm over his throat. He doesn’t press down, but even just resting there he can feel the uptick in Laurent’s breathing.

“Into that too, then?” Laurent asks.

“Maybe,” Damen says.

Laurent swallows, hard, and Damen can feel every slight twitch of the movement under his palm. He presses down just a tiny bit.

“The marks would show,” Laurent murmurs, voice deeper than it was before.

“That’s not a no.”

Damen looks up to his face, and finds Laurent watching him closely. Laurent’s pupils are wide, eyes dark. Damen wants to kiss him, but stays where he is.

There’s a long pause, just Laurent’s breathing under him. “Not while I’m on assignment,” Laurent says, eventually.

Damen moves his hand so that he’s cradling the back of Laurent’s neck instead, and gives in to the urge to lean down and kiss him.

His back protests against this position, bent nearly double over Laurent, far too soon, and Damen sits back up. Laurent sits up with him, using only his thighs hooked around Damen’s waist to lever himself up. He reaches down between them, fingers fumbling with Damen’s pants just like they had yesterday in the classroom. He’s just as fast with the zipper today as he was then, and his hand is closing around Damen’s dick before Damen’s even quite registered that his pants are open.

“You know,” Laurent says, as his fingers squeeze around the base, “it’s not very professional to stare at a student’s ass all practice.”

“Good thing you’re not a student then.”

Laurent tilts his head down and looks up at Damen through his lashes. “But Mr. Akielon, I could be.”

Damen’s dick gives him away, twitching in Laurent’s hold. Laurent smirks.

Damen decides to avoid that train of thought, for this own sanity. “Did you get these from the girls’ section?” he asks, focussing on Laurent’s shorts. He traces a finger along the edge of the fabric that’s stretched over Laurent’s thigh, before working his fingers under the fabric to squeeze at Laurent’s ass. He was right earlier: Laurent’s not wearing anything under them.

“Nicaise told me these were the standard uniform.”

“Well there’s your problem. You’ve fallen in with the riff raff already.”

“That was the plan,” Laurent says. He ends the sentence with a small gasp, as Damen’s finger traces over his hole and probes at it, dry. His hips jerk forward.

“Plan?” Damen asks, doing it again.

“There’s lube in my gym bag,” Laurent says.

“You were planning on fucking in here?”

“You’re really predictable.” Laurent grabs Damen’s wrist while Damen is still staring at him in indignation, yanking his hand out of his shorts and climbing off his lap so that he crawl off the bench and reach his bag on the floor. He stand back up, triumphantly holding the small tube of lube and a condom aloft.

“I’m not predictable,” Damen argues.

“You kind of are,” Laurent says. “It’s okay. Did you still want to go for missionary again or…”

Damen stand up and grabs Laurent’s shoulders, shoving him back up against the lockers. Laurent doesn’t flinch, staring up at him with a slight quirk to his lips. “I’m not predictable.”

“Up against the lockers then?” Laurent asks.

Damen growls as he kisses him, and Laurent kisses back just as harshly, teeth biting down on Damen’s lower lip. Damen grabs hold of the waistband of Laurent’s shorts, yanking them down around his ankles, and snatches hold of the lube that Laurent’s holding out.

Laurent manages to kick the shorts off one ankle but that’s as far as he gets before Damen manhandles him around to face the lockers and presses a slick finger against his hole, working him open with first one finger and then another.

“I really thought you were gonna go for missionary again,” Laurent says, turning to look over his shoulder. He arches his back, knees shaking just a bit as Damen adds a third finger.

“You didn’t predict this?”

“No, I did. I figured you’d do something different if I teased you about.”

Damen glances up to find Laurent smirking at him. He steps back, hands falling away from Laurent, and Laurent turns around, leaning back against the lockers. Damen’s rolling the condom on when Laurent reaches out a hand, fingers resting on Damen’s bicep. Damen’s still dressed in the t-shirt and workout pants he wears to coach in, even if the pants are low around his hips and his cock is out. “Do you think you could hold me up?” Laurent asks.

Damen manhandled Laurent enough to have a general idea of how much he weighs. “Yes.”

Laurent looks up at him, the teasing having finally fallen away from his expression as he says, “Do that.”

Damen kisses him first, most gently than before, hands cradling Laurent’s face. Laurent takes that as an opportunity to climb Damen like a tree, arms encircling his shoulders and knees hooking over his hips, and Damen’s forced to grab him under his thighs to hold him up. Laurent leans back a bit, shoulders hitting the lockers, and says, “Come on then, fuck me.”

It’s hard to line himself up while holding Laurent aloft, but Damen is nothing if not determined, and after one or two false starts he’s finally sliding into Laurent, wet heat enveloping him, and it’s gravity more than anything that does the rest, dropping Laurent onto his cock until he’s balls deep so fast that Laurent is staring at him, eyes wide in surprise.

This is very athletic sex, and Damen’s shirt is sticking to his back with sweat after only a minute, but he doesn’t care because it’s also  _ amazing _ sex. Laurent is hot and tight around him. He uses his grip on Damen’s shoulders and his knees around Damen’s hips to pull himself up before dropping back down, while Damen’s lifting with his arms, and this kind of coordination between them should require knowing each other better, should require some discussion, should require more than just one other night of mind-blowing sex, but apparently every time with Laurent is mind-blowing. Laurent is mind-blowing. 

Damen comes first, and after he’s come down from the high of his orgasm he just sags a bit, still holding Laurent up, soft cock slipping free from Laurent’s ass. Laurent remains wrapped around him, but after a few minutes makes a questioning sound, and Damen leans back, slowly lowering Laurent to the ground.

Laurent’s legs are a bit unsteady, but he’s still hard. Damen pushes him back to lean against the lockers and sinks to his knees, taking Laurent’s cock into his mouth to suck him off. Laurent’s hands are gentle in his hair, fingers twisting just a bit in his curls, but petting more than anything else. After he comes, and Damen swallows, they both wind up sitting on the floor, leaning against the lockers. Laurent rests his head against Damen’s shoulder.

“Are you always that good at this?” Laurent asks, voice soft, like he didn’t really mean to ask it.

“At giving head?” Damen asks.

“At… everything.”

“I think it’s you,” Damen says.

“It’s not me,” Laurent mutters.

Damen’s trying to think of what to say to that, because he certain it  _ is _ Laurent that’s making this amazing, actually, but before he can think of it Laurent has stumbled to his feet and is heading towards one of the stalls to clean up.

“Come on, Mr. A. We better get out of here before a janitor finds us.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m checking off a few kink bingo squares with this chapter. Wee!

By the time Friday comes around, Damen looks back over the week and isn’t sure how this became his life. He’s had sex with Laurent twice more – a risky blowjob in the classroom during lunch and a quick fuck in a janitor’s closet after hours – and inbetween Laurent has acted like every other bratty kid in his classes, sarcastic and not turning in any homework. The anxiety and arousal that’s eating away at Damen’s gut has become a constant companion.

It feels like he’s fucking a student. He _knows_ Laurent is twenty-five. Laurent has told him. He’s here undercover to suss out the drug problems the school’s been plagued with this year and honestly, he’s probably good at his job because he’s already made friends with the group that Damen’s suspected have been on the fringes of that all along. (If Ancel and Nicaise aren’t dealing it themselves, they at least know who is.) And none of the students or other teachers appear to be any the wiser about it. In fact, Damen walks into the teacher’s lounge on Friday morning to find several other teachers gossiping about what a brat the new student is.

Guion Fortaine, the assistant principal, is complaining that Laurent’s already been sent to the office three times for talking back to teachers. “I put him in detention with you on Saturday,” Guion tells Damen. “You’re always good with the troubled ones.”

Damen pours himself a cup of coffee to avoid having to answer right away. “Saturday.”

“No one else is in there. Yet.”

_Of course not,_ Damen thinks. He spends as long as possible adding cream and sugar to the awful coffee they serve in here.

“Maybe he’ll learn from detention,” one of the other teachers suggests.

Guion looks doubtful. “He looked almost happy about it when I told him it was mandatory.”

“He can work on all the French homework he hasn’t done, at least,” Damen finally says. He gives Guion a tight smile. “Sorry, gotta go. I’ve got some planning to finish,” he says, slipping out of the lounge before anyone can stop him.

Saturday detention alone with Laurent. Fucking during it is a forgone conclusion at this point, but Laurent’s probably going to insist on something crazy, like fucking in the principal’s office.

Damen stops in the middle of the hall, struck dumb for a moment thinking about that. Nik really would kill him, whether Laurent is undercover or not. Damen will have to say no if Laurent suggests that. In fact, he should tell Laurent they can’t fuck at school at all anymore. It’s way too risky. For both of them.

He’s still thinking about this when he walks into his classroom and finds that Laurent and Nicaise are already there, along with another boy who’s not in any of Damen’s classes. He recognizes him anyway because he’s Guion’s son, Aimeric, a senior who tends to get away with everything since his father is the chief disciplinarian of the school. They all look up at him when he walks in.

“Morning, Mr. A,” Nicaise says.

Damen finishes his coffee in a long gulp before replying. “What are you guys plotting?”

“Just some misdemeanors,” Laurent says, smirking. Nicaise elbows him, and Laurent turns to him with a frown.

Damen has no idea if Laurent is serious or not. “Well, try not to get caught,” he says.

There’s still quite a bit of time before class starts, but now that Damen’s here the boys don’t seem to want to stick around. Nicaise stalks out of the room, Laurent and Aimeric trailing after him. Damen resists shooting Laurent a questioning look as he passes. “Be back before the bell,” is all he says. Laurent waves him off.

Senior French class is the last of the day, and when the bell rings all the kids rush to leave, but Laurent lingers at his desk, putting his books away slowly and then walking up to Damen’s desk. Damen keeps his eyes on his desk until Laurent clears his throat. When he looks up, Laurent rocks back on his heels, thumbs hooked around the straps of his backpack. He looks very young.

“Did you want to turn in your homework?” Damen asks.

“About that,” Laurent says.

The door across from them is open to the hallway, noise drifting in as everyone rushes to leave for the day. Damen can’t tear his eyes away from Laurent, but he can feel the open door pressing against his side like a threat. The threat of being caught. Caught doing what, he isn’t sure. He’s not doing anything _wrong_ , but it feels like he is. He’s not sure what this game with Laurent is, exactly, beyond exceedingly hot and taking over his every waking thought.

“I was wondering,” Laurent is saying, “if you offer tutoring. For struggling students like myself.”

“In French.”

“ _Oui._ ”

“There’s a program in the library–” Damen starts to say.

“I really think something one-on-one would help more,” Laurent says, very earnestly. He rocks on his toes again. “And you’re just so good at French. I really feel like I could learn a lot.”

Damen stares at him. Laurent gazes back earnestly.

“I might be free this evening,” Damen says.

“Perfect!” Laurent smiles brightly. “I’ll see you then. Thanks a bunch, Mr. Akielon.”

Then he spins on his heel and walks out, a bounce in his step, and Damen watches him go. His pants are too tight for uniform regulations, surely.

\- - -

Damen’s not sure what he’s expecting later that night, but it’s not responding to a knock on his door to find Laurent standing there _in his school uniform_.

Damen gapes at him. “What are you doing?”

“Hi, Mr. Akielon. I’m here for tutoring.” Laurent holds up his backpack, the same one he carries at school, as proof of this. “I brought my homework.”

“You... home…” Damen sputters. Finally he grabs Laurent by the front of his blazer and pulls him inside, slamming the door shut after him.

Laurent stares up at him, startled.

“What if my neighbors saw you?!” Damen demands.

“They’d think you really care about your students?” Laurent says, tentatively.

“They’d think I’m fucking a student,” Damen says.

“That sounds scandalous, Mr. Akielon,” Laurent says. “I’m sure you would _never_.” He bats his eyelashes.

Damen’s pretty sure Laurent is fucking with him, but it’s hard to tell. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

“Mmhmm,” Laurent says, looking around like he’s never been to Damen’s apartment before. “So where do you want me?”

It sounds like Laurent is asking where Damen wants to fuck him. “What?”

Laurent holds up his backpack again. “For homework? I really don’t understand how to conjugate _être_.”

“ _Être,_ ” Damen says, correcting Laurent’s pronunciation.

“Ett-tray,” Laurent says.

Damen stares at him. He’d expected Laurent to drop the act, outside of school, but if he’s sticking to the bad French then he must be sticking to the whole thing. Damen looks Laurent up and down; he’s wearing the uniform khakis and a schoolboy sweater-vest and blazer and striped tie. He looks like a student. He looks like one of _Damen’s_ students.

Damen wants to rip his clothes off and fuck him into the floorboards.

Laurent spins on his heel and heads towards the tiny kitchenette. “How about the kitchen table?” he says.

_For sex?_ Damen wonders.

“You assigned so many worksheets I just can’t keep up without help, Mr. Akielon,” Laurent continues, pulling said worksheets out of his backpack. Wow, he really did bring his homework. He’s got his French textbook too. Laurent lays them all out on the table and then seats himself primly in the chair, looking up at Damen.

“You don’t have a pencil,” Damen points out. “Did you forget?”

“I was hoping I could borrow one.”

“I only have pens,” Damen tells him, retrieving one from the junk drawer and holding it out.

Laurent takes it slowly. “It’s a good thing I have you to help me not make any mistakes then, Mr. Akielon.”

Damen’s not sure what the next move is here, but Laurent’s sitting at the table, homework spread out in front of him, looking at Damen like he’s waiting for something, so Damen pulls out the chair next to him and sits down. “Let’s start with _être_ , you really need to understand that to move forward.”

Laurent leans into Damen’s space to reach for the relevant worksheet. He actually sits there and works on it for a few minutes while Damen watches, spelling things incorrectly and forgetting accents, crossing them out and rewriting them when Damen points out the mistakes. He bites at his lip and reaches up to loosen his tie at one point. Then he finally gets frustrated enough to throw the pen down and cross his arms, lower lip stuck out in a pout. “This is too hard,” Laurent complains. “I’m never going to get it.”

“I’m sure if you just take a deep breath and try again...” Damen starts to say, encouragingly, as he would with any struggling student.

Laurent interrupts him, looking up at him through his lashes. “It’s just French that I don’t understand. I’m much better at other stuff, Mr. Akielon. I promise.”

“Like what?” Damen feels almost wary about where this is going.

“I could show you,” Laurent says. He leans forward in his chair, reaching under the table. His hand skims over Damen’s thigh to land on his crotch.

Damen’s been so into this tutoring roleplay that he nearly forgot it _was_ roleplay. That this was all leading up to sex anyway. He jumps about a mile out of his chair, hand clamping down around Laurent’s wrist like a vice to stop him. When he looks at Laurent he catches just the slightest smirk on his lips before it’s gone, replaced by wide, startled eyes and an open mouth.

Damen swallows hard, and loosens his hold on Laurent’s wrist. “That’s inappropriate, Laurent. I’m your teacher.” He sets Laurent’s hand back on top of the table before letting go.

Laurent twists in his chair to face him. “But Mr. Akielon, I really need to pass French. I won’t be able to graduate without it.”

“You should study harder then,” Damen tells him.

“I’ve tried, but I’m just not any good at studying,” Laurent says. He tilts his head, like a bird, and smiles up at Damen. His fingers are tugging at the bottom edge of his blazer. “I was really hoping you would understand. Everyone says you’re the coolest teacher at school. And maybe we could… I don’t know… Come to some other kind of arrangement?”

“Arrangement?”

“You know, quid pro quo?”

Damen frowns at him. “So you can speak Latin but not French?”

“I know a few key phrases,” Laurent says. And then, with a perfect accent, he adds, “ _Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir_?”

Damen stares at him, jolted out the roleplay by the reminder of the night they met. Laurent maintains his earnest expression. “You missed a calling in theater,” Damen tells him.

“I could go see if Mr. Torgeir will let me audition. It’s too late for the spring play but maybe I could convince him to make an exception…”

“No!” Damen says. A slow grin spreads across Laurent’s face. “No, you don’t need to be in the play,” Damen says. “You’re busy with track anyway, right?”

“Well, I could be,” Laurent says. “If you want me to be.” He smiles. “Does this mean you’re agreeing to our deal?”

“What’s the deal?”

“You’re going to give me an A in French,” Laurent says, “and in exchange I’m going to suck your cock.”

Damen taps a finger against his chin, over-acting as he considers Laurent’s proposal. “What makes you think you get to dictate the terms of this deal?”

Laurent’s got just a hint of a frown creasing his forehead now. “Because I’m the one making the deal with you.”

“But _you’re_ the one who needs _me_ in this situation. I don’t think you should get to dictate the terms at all, Laurent.”

Laurent’s watching him carefully. He stands up, and like this he’s actually taller than Damen for a change. “I really need an A in French, Mr. Akielon. I’ll do anything.”

“Take off your blazer,” Damen tells him.

Laurent shrugs it off, letting it drop to the floor.

“And your sweater.”

That lands on the floor too. Laurent reaches for this tie next, but Damen tells him to keep it on, along with his shirt. His shoes and socks and pants wind up on the floor though, along with his underwear, until he’s standing in front of Damen wearing only his shirt and tie. Laurent’s already half hard, cock peeking out from beneath the hem of his shirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take this off?” Laurent asks, fingers toying with the bottom button of his shirt. It slips through the hole.

“Leave it on,” Damen tells him. He pushes his chair back from the table and spreads his legs, slouching down in the chair, before he says, “Come here.”

Laurent comes to stand between Damen’s spread thighs. It’s clear he’s expecting Damen to push him down to his knees, because he nearly squeaks in surprise when Damen grabs him around the waist, lifts him, and sets him down on the table instead. When he glances up at Laurent’s face, Laurent is staring at him, eyes dark and lips slightly parted.

“I thought you wanted me to suck your cock, Mr. A,” he says.

“Have you done that before?” Damen asks him. He rests his palms over Laurent’s knees, spreading his legs further apart, and rubbing at his skin with his thumbs.

There’s a pause, Laurent’s eyes still locked with his, before Laurent says, “No.”

“I thought you said you were good at it.”

Laurent bites his lip. “I’m sure I _would_ be, if you let me.”

“Do you even know what to do?”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“Watching porn?” He waits for Laurent to nod. “You know that’s nothing like real life, don’t you?”

“You could tell me what to do,” Laurent suggests.

Damen slides his hands up Laurent’s thighs, avoiding touching his cock, and gently pushes him back to lay down on the table. Laurent shirt is ruched up around his waist, and his cock is full and heavy, lying against his stomach. “I’ll show you,” he says. He touches Laurent then, hand wrapping around the base of his cock and stroking.

“I’ve done _this_ before,” Laurent says, a bit indignant.

Damen bends forward, standing up from his chair so he can reach Laurent better. He nuzzles against Laurent’s sharp hip bone, before pressing a wet kiss there, trailing his way towards Laurent’s cock. Then he skips over it, kissing at Laurent’s other thigh.

“This isn’t really cocksucking either, Mr. A.”

“Stop being impatient,” Damen tells him, voice muffled against Laurent’s skin. Laurent shivers under him.

“I’m a teenager, I can’t help it.”

Damen presses a kiss against the base of Laurent’s cock, and Laurent right leg spasms under his hand. “Shh,” Damen says, his breath blowing out over Laurent.

Laurent shudders again. “Please, Mr. Akielon.”

Damen laves his tongue over Laurent’s cock, working his way to the tip. He swirls his tongue just the head of Laurent’s cock, then pulls back, returning to stroking him with his hand, and looks down at Laurent to ask, “Please what?”

Laurent’s head is tilted back, gazing somewhere at the ceiling. He glances down, locking eyes with Damen. “Please,” is all he can seem to say.

“You need to learn to be clear and ask for what you want.” Damen keeps stroking him lightly.

Laurent’s hips shift, seeking more friction. “I want you to suck my cock,” he says. “Mr. Akielon. Please,” he adds, belatedly.

“See? I knew you could ask for it.” Damen rewards Laurent by taking the head of his cock between his lips and sucking hard, and Laurent whines a bit, hips jerking up off the table as he tries to thrust even deeper. Damen presses down sharply with the hand he has on Laurent’s thigh to keep him in place. He pulls back to tell him, “Stay still,” then takes the head of Laurent’s cock back between his lips, tongue flicking over the slit.

Laurent sucks in a sharp breath, but he takes Damen’s command to heart. His thighs tremble with the effort to stay still and his hands ball into fists against the tabletop.

Damen swallows Laurent’s cock nearly to the base, before pulling back slowly and sucking hard on the head again, one hand stroking over his balls. He sets up a rhythm like this, working Laurent’s cock wet and messy, and Laurent responds with the best sounds Damen could hope for. He reacts to every flick of Damen’s tongue as if it’s going to kill him, breath hitching out in helpless gasps. He reacts like someone who’s never been touched before, and Damen savors every moment of it.

When he reaches up with his free hand, palm sliding over Laurent’s heaving stomach and up under his shirt, to trace over a nipple he gets an even louder gasp. “Mm– Mr. Aki– Akielon…”

“Hmm,” Damen hums back, lips still locked around Laurent’s cock.

“Oh fuck,” Laurent says. One of his hands bangs down on the table, fingers scrabbling at the smooth wood. “Please. Please. I’m so… so close.”

Damen tugs on the nipple between his fingers, and Laurent arches his back into it. “Please…”

As nice as having Laurent come down his throat would be, as much as Damen wants to feel every last twitch of Laurent’s cock as he comes, wants to keep sucking him through it until it becomes too much and he’s squirming and begging Damen for a different reason, he doesn’t want it to end this quickly. He lets Laurent’s cock fall from his lips, leaving a wet smear on his chin, and gets a loud groan from Laurent.

“No, no. Don’t stop,” Laurent says, raising himself up on his elbows to look down at Damen. His shirt is wrinkled and rucked up around his waist now, his tie dangling off to one side. The bottom button is still undone, so Damen reaches for the next one, undoing it.

Damen tilts his head at him. “Don’t stop what?”

Laurent’s breath heaves out of him as he watches Damen unbutton his shirt. “Don’t stop sucking my cock. Please Mr. Akielon.”

Laurent’s chest is bare now, and Damen pinches his nipple again. It hardens against his fingers, and Laurent’s breath hitches again.

“Please,” he says again.

Damen grabs Laurent’s legs to tug him closer to the edge of the table, nearly off of it, and lowers his face back down to his crotch. “Oh thank god,” Laurent mutters, as Damen’s tongue traces over his cock. Then Damen keeps going, licking at the sensitive skin behind his balls, and Laurent says, confusion coloring his voice, “What are you doing?”

Damen lowers himself to his knees and pulls Laurent further towards him, legs hooked over his shoulders. He uses his hands on Laurent’s ass to spread him open, and licks over his hole.

Laurent keens, hips jerking like he doesn’t know which direction to push in, his heels digging into Damen’s back. “Oh god. Oh god. Are you really? Mi- Mr. Akielon are you…”

Damen licks over him more determinedly, working his tongue and one finger into Laurent’s ass. “Ah, Mist- Mr. Akielon…” And really, Laurent calling him _that_ while writhing on his tongue should not be having the effect on Damen that it is, but his neglected cock twitches all the same. “I… I need…”

Damen waits for Laurent to finish speaking, and when he doesn’t, he adds a second finger, licking where Laurent’s hole is stretched around them.

“Fuck me,” Laurent says, the words coming out of him in a rush. “I want… I want you to…”

Damen lifts his head, but keeps his fingers where they are, stretching Laurent’s open. “You haven’t done that before,” he says. It’s not a question.

Above him, Laurent looks wrecked already. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is a mess. He’s propped up on his elbows, looking down at Damen, eyes dark with arousal. “No,” he agrees. “I haven’t.” He bites at his lower lip.

“But you want to now.”

Laurent nods. “I want to know what it’s like.”

“It’s not going to be like if you were with someone your own age,” Damen tells him.

“I don’t want anyone my age. I want you.”

Damen stands up, letting his fingers slip free from Laurent’s ass. Laurent lets out a whine at the loss. “You haven’t even seen what you’re asking for,” Damen tells him.

Laurent sits up, hands clenched on the edge of the table. His eyes are locked on Damen’s crotch, and it’s a long moment before he looks up, biting his lip. “Show me?”

Damen _can’t_ say no to that; no sane man could. He undoes his fly and pulls his hard cock out, fisting it around the base and giving it a stroke. Laurent is staring like he’s never seen anyone else’s cock before, fascinated.

Laurent reaches out with one hand, tentative, and his fingers wrap around Damen’s cock, above Damen’s own hand, squeezing just a bit. “It’s so much bigger than I thought it would be, Mr. A.”

Damen feels like laughing for a moment, wondering what bad porno Laurent picked that up from, but then Laurent looks at him from under his lashes and says, “I mean, I thought about it a lot, when I– y’know…”

Damen raises an eyebrow at him.

Laurent blushes, looking away, back down to Damen’s cock. “When I used my fingers on myself,” he finishes. “But it’s so much bigger than I imagined.”

Damen doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. Instead he feels like pushing Laurent back down on the table and pushing into him and fucking him until the table breaks under them. He’s still thinking about that when Laurent’s grip on his cock tightens and he says, “You’d go slow though, wouldn’t you? I can handle it if you go slow, I know I can.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, if you’ve never done this before,” Damen says.

Laurent looks up at him, and there’s something a little too real in his expression as he says, “You’d never hurt me.”

Not intentionally, anyway, Damen thinks. He wonders sometimes what they’re playing at with this relationship. It’s bad for both their careers, could get both of them fired, and yet they keep going. Damen can’t make himself stop, not for his own good or for Laurent’s. Every time he thinks he can stop he sees Laurent again and is drawn back to him, as bad as if he’s already cross the event horizon of a black hole. He couldn’t walk away from this now if he tried.

He leans in to kiss Laurent, a dry press of their lips together that feels chaste after everything else they’ve done tonight.

“Wait here,” Damen tells him, gently removing Laurent’s hand from his cock and stepping back.

Laurent frowns. “Where are you going?”

“If I’m going to fuck you we need lube and a condom.”

Laurent pouts, but sits back on the table to wait, and Damen hurries to gather supplies from his bedroom. He returns to find Laurent laying on his back in the middle of the table, one foot up on the table, legs spread obscenely as he strokes his own cock lazily.

“You took a long time,” Laurent says.

“I did not.”

“It felt like a long time.” He reaches out a hand for Damen. “Please, Mr. Akielon. I need your cock in me.” His hips shift restlessly.

“Still sure you can handle it?” Damen asks, stepping up next to him and placing a hand on Laurent’s raised knee, pushing it further to the side. Laurent goes with the motion, letting his leg fall open, and his hand falls away from his cock.

“I’m sure, Mr. Akielon.”

Damen tears the condom open and rolls it onto his cock, feeling Laurent’s gaze heavy on him as he does. Laurent is loose from being rimmed and fingered earlier, and opens easily when Damen probes at him with slick fingers. He doesn’t waste much time with more prep, instead coating his cock with lube and pulling Laurent back down to the edge of the table.

“We’ll start slow,” Damen tells him. “Just the tip, so you can get used to how it feels.”

Laurent nods, taking a deep breath. “Okay,” he says.

Finally getting his cock into Laurent makes it hard to stop with just the tip inside, but this is as much about teasing Laurent as it is himself, and Laurent responds to it beautifully. As soon as Damen had lined up his cock and started to push in, Laurent’s eyes had widened in shock, and now he’s still wide-eyed and breathing hard.

“Oh… Oh god, Mr. Akielon. I…”

“Doing okay?” Damen asks.

“It hurts a little,” Laurent says. “But I like it,” he adds quickly. “Don’t stop.”

“It does the first time,” Damen tells him. “You need to get used to it.” He rocks his hips a bit, his cock pushing a bit further into Laurent, and Laurent groans.

“I– I can’t… Is that all of it?”

“No,” Damen says.

“Oh god.” Laurent squirms a bit, working himself further down Damen’s cock. His face is twisted up like he can’t decide if he likes it or not, brow furrowed, mouth open and panting.

“Do you want to stop?”

Laurent shakes his head, desperately. “Don’t stop. I want all of it. I want to feel all of you inside me." His hips move again, fucking back towards Damen.

“God, you’re taking it so well,” Damen tells him, hands tightening on Laurent’s hips. “You’re so good, baby.” He buries himself the rest of the way in Laurent in one thrust, and Laurent keens, shoulders lifting off the table as his back arches.

They stay like that a for a minute, until Laurent says, voice shaky, “Please, Mr. Akielon. I can handle it.”

“Handle what?”

“Fuck me, please.” Laurent shifts his hips, squirming on Damen’s cock, seeking the friction that he’s not giving him right now, and Damen has to close his eyes for a moment before he can gather himself enough to adjust his grip on Laurent’s hips and start fucking him in earnest.

Laurent makes more noise than he ever has before. Breathy moans and soft sounds that get forced out of him with each thrust, like he can’t control it at all. His hands scramble at the table top, seeking out something to hold onto, and wind up reaching for Damen, clutching at his shirt. “Mist– Mr. Akielon… please I need–” Laurent’s voice breaks off into a moan.

Damen’s breathing hard himself, sweat gathering along his spine. The tight, wet heat gripping his cock is distracting, but he focuses and asks, “What do you need?”

“I– I don’t–” Laurent shakes his head, hands spasming on Damen’s arms.

Damen knows what he’s asking for though. He lets go of Laurent’s hip with one hand and reaches for his cock, stroking him roughly, completely out of sync with their fucking, and Laurent comes after only a few strokes, cock twitching in Damen’s hand and spurting over his fist and Laurent’s own stomach.

Damen’s hand falls back to the table, bracing himself as he thrusts roughly into Laurent. He’s close, and at this point he feels like he’s been hard for hours. He wants to come desperately, and wants to do it inside Laurent, wants to see his come dripping out of Laurent after.

“Come inside me,” Laurent says, adding, “Mr. Akielon, please,” like a breathy afterthought.

Damen groans, head falling forward against Laurent’s chest as he comes. He stays like that, feeling like he’s barely managing to stay on his feet if not for the table and Laurent under him, for a few long minutes before lifting his head.

Laurent’s watching him like he’s trying to puzzle something out, and it’s too much for Damen to try and figure out this soon after sex. He pulls away from Laurent, dropping into the nearest chair bonelessly, and says, “Holy shit.”

Laurent laughs, sitting up at the edge of the table. “So do I get an A?”

Damen tries to make his brain function. Right, the game. Laurent was doing this for a good grade in French. “I’m gonna make it an B plus,” he says.

Laurent, who was in the middle of finally taking his tie off, frowns. “Are you joking?”

“No. A B plus is a good grade.”

He glares at Damen. “My ass is worth an A plus.”

Damen snorts, and then can’t keep the laughter at bay anymore. He’s doubled over, laughing, and it only gets worse when Laurent tosses his tie at him.

“I want an A,” Laurent insists.

“Next time do more of the work yourself,” Damen tells him, still snickering.

Laurent hops off the table with a huff, and heads out of the kitchen. “I’m taking a shower. You coming, Mr. A?”

Damen gets his giggles under control and follows him, because of course he is.

\- - -

Damen’s not sure if Laurent was intending to sleep over or not, but he winds up doing so anyway, and he wakes up the next morning with Laurent curled up against his side, head pillowed on his bicep and turning Damen’s entire arm numb. Damen eases out from under him gently, trying not to wake him, and Laurent only grumbles a little bit before rolling over to clutch at the pillow instead.

Damen pulls on some sweatpants and heads to the kitchen, hoping he has something he can fix for breakfast. The smell of bacon and eggs seems to finally draw Laurent from bed as well, and he arrives in the doorway, wearing a sweatshirt of Damen’s that he must have pulled from a drawer. It’s too big on him, hanging down to the tops of his thighs, and Damen stares for a long moment, spatula in hand.

“You’re going to drip bacon grease all over the floor,” Laurent says.

Damen spins back around to the stove. The bacon needs to be flipped.

Laurent comes up beside him, peering at the stove for a moment. “You didn’t have to cook me breakfast.”

“I wanted to,” Damen says. “There’s coffee too.”

Laurent moves away, to fix himself a coffee loaded down with so much cream and sugar it’s turned a pale brown color. Damen blinks at it in disbelief. “How do you drink that?”

“I like things that don’t taste disgusting,” Laurent says primly, before taking a sip.

“You have a sweet tooth,” Damen corrects him.

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. Next time I’ll make you French toast.”

“That was an option?” Laurent asks, interested.

Damen grins, dishing up the eggs and bacon onto a plate. “Next time,” he says. “There’s toast on the table.”

“You’re awfully confident about there being a next time,” Laurent says, taking his plate.

“How about tomorrow?”

Laurent seats himself at the table. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“You’re not busy.” Damen sits down across from him, reaching for the toast and butter.

“I’ve got detention, remember? And homework for other classes. Not every teacher is willing to make the arrangements you are, Mr. Akielon.”

Damen drops his toast onto his plate. “You don’t do any of your homework.”

Laurent shrugs, as if this doesn’t matter. “Anyway, my trapper keeper is still at home, and my planner is in there. I’ll try to pencil you in around track practice.”

Damen laughs. “You’re slipping up. No one uses trapper keepers anymore.”

“Yes, they do,” Laurent insists. “They use them _ironically._ ”

After breakfast, Laurent heads out, wearing yesterday’s rumpled clothes and looking every bit like a prep school student doing a walk of shame. Damen really doesn’t want to think of the uniform he sees all his students wearing as hot, but apparently that’s just a lost cause now.

Detention doesn’t start until ten, which leaves Damen with a bit of time to putz around the house before getting ready, and when he arrives at school he’s still early. He checks again, and Laurent is still the only student assigned to detention today. They’re set up in Damen’s classroom, and Laurent lounges across one of the desks in the front row for a change, wearing tight jeans and a band t-shirt instead of the uniform.

“You realize you could just turn in a few of the homework assignments and you wouldn’t have to come in on the weekend, don’t you?” Damen asks him, curious about what Laurent’s strategy is here.

“Do other teenage delinquents do their homework?”

“Well, occasionally, yes, or you wouldn’t be the only one here.”

Laurent frowns. “Point,” he says. “But I need a reputation faster than normal high school gossip spreads.”

Damen leans his elbows on his desk, resting his chin on his hand. “I don’t understand your job at all.”

“I don’t understand yours,” Laurent counters. “What are we supposed to do here all day anyway?”

“You’re supposed to think about what you did wrong, regret the decisions that brought you here, and vow never to repeat them.”

Laurent tilts his head, as though pondering that for a minute. “How about I suck your cock instead?”

It’s a sign of how relaxed Damen is that he laughs first, and then realizes that the door to the classroom is open. Someone could be in the hallway. They’ve been acting like themselves, and not like teacher and student. He musters up an over-emphasized frown. “Inappropriate, Mr. Marlas.”

“Oh, I’m ‘mister’ now,” Laurent says. He hops up off his chair and goes over to the door, glancing out into the hall before pulling it shut. “Coast is clear,” he says, walking back over to Damen’s desk and pushing on his chair to spin it around.

Damen plucks at Laurent’s shirt. “Teenagers don’t listen to this music,” he tells him. “This is what I listened to in middle school.”

“It’s vintage,” Laurent says, hands resting on Damen’s shoulders.

Damen frowns. “Are you calling me old?”

Laurent leans in, breath warm against Damen’s ear. “It’s okay, Mr. A. You’re still in really good shape.”

Damen turns his head to the side, so that he can kiss him. Laurent seems a bit surprised by the kiss at first, but responds to it hungrily, mouth opening under Damen’s. He makes the most delicious tiny sound as Damen’s teeth brush over his lower lip. Really, as fantastic as all the sex is, Damen feels like he could spend hours just kissing Laurent.

He’s kissing his way down Laurent’s jaw, enjoying the way Laurent tilts his head back, asking for more, when Laurent pulls away. Damen starts to pull him back, but Laurent is already sinking to his knees on the industrial carpet, hands on Damen’s knees to spread them further apart.

"We shouldn't," Damen protests faintly.

Laurent looks up at him through his lashes. "You were going to let me do this the first day, when you still thought I was actually a student."

"I _wasn't_ – I..." Laurent licks his lips slowly and Damen breaks off. "The door's not locked."

"There's no one else in the building," Laurent says, rubbing his cheek against the bulge of Damen's dick against the fly of his slacks. "You're so hard, Mr. A."

Who does Damen think he’s kidding by protesting anyway? He’s going to say yes. He always says yes. Laurent could ask him to run off tomorrow and leave everything behind and Damen would probably say yes, which is a frightening thought, now that he’s had it. But he’s not sure it’s that far off the mark. This thing with Laurent, it’s more than just great sex, he’s certain. It’s the way they’re able to anticipate what the other wants, the long talks they’ve had – following sex, usually – and the way Damen’s heart seems to pick up a bit whenever Laurent enters the room.

Laurent’s already opening Damen’s pants, pulling his cock free and stroking it a few times. Damen runs his hand over Laurent’s bent head, stroking his hair back, and watches as Laurent wraps his lips around the head.

Compared to other blowjobs Laurent has given him, this one is quieter. It still feels loud in the empty classroom, like the wet sounds of Laurent sucking him off are echoing against the cinderblock, but Damen gets lost in how hypnotic it is. He feels boneless, slouching down further in his chair. Laurent has one hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, but his other is flexing against Damen’s thigh, fingers digging in.

The noise of the door opening draws Damen’s attention away from watching Laurent lazily, until a few seconds later when it hits him like a train that the door is _open_ and _Nicaise_ , of all people, is standing there staring at them with eyes as wide as saucers.

“The _fuck_?!” Nicaise exclaims.

Laurent pulls back, Damen’s cock leaving a smear of dampness on his chin, and swings around to gape at Nicaise.

Damen hastily tries to stuff his dick back in his pants and get to his feet. “This– this isn’t what it looks like.”

Nicaise is looking between them like watching a tennis match, but Laurent stays quiet, still on the floor. “It looks like you’re fucking,” Nicaise says. He seems to have gotten over the shock, and his eyes are narrowed now.

“We’re not,” Damen says.

“We are,” Laurent corrects him.

Damen turns to look at Laurent incredulously. He’s surprisingly calm right now, while Damen feels like his stomach has dropped to the floor and he’s going to puke.

Nicaise seems to come to a decision, and darts forward, bending down to grab Laurent’s wrist. “Come on,” he says. “We’re getting out of here. Really, Mr. A., I thought you were, like, a nice guy. But you’re fucking sick. Come on, Laurent.” It takes him a few tugs to get Laurent on his feet. “We’re going to the police,” Nicaise continues. “And the principal. You’re in so much shit right now.” His glare at Damen is accompanied by a fierce scowl.

Then Nicaise is marching off towards the exit, Laurent in tow. Laurent glances over his shoulder at Damen, but continues following Nicaise, silently.

Damen sinks back into his chair, staring at the gaping hole of the open door to the hallway. Further down the hall, he can hear one of the exterior doors slam open and shut.

He has no clue what to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink Bingo squares: Virginity/Celibacy, Uniform/Military Kink, Roleplay.


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, mixed episodes suck. Sorry it’s been so long folks! My brain is back in order which means I wrote like half of this today.
> 
> Enjoy a single chapter of Laurent pov, the way Pacat intended it.

Outside the school, Nicaise finally drops Laurent’s wrist. “I can’t _believe_ you’re fucking Mr. A.”

Laurent frowns, trying to think of how to play this. He’s distracted by worrying over what Damen is doing, left behind in the classroom, but shoves that aside. He can’t be thinking about Damen right now; he needs to focus on the job he’s actually here to do. Nicaise is undoubtedly involved in the drugs that have been circulating among the students here, Laurent’s just not sure how involved he is yet. This is the first time he’s had a chance to talk to Nicaise outside of school hours, and it could be a big break in the case. There’s no room to worry about Damen right now.

“You’re not really going to tell the police, are you?” Laurent asks.

Nicaise shrugs. “I _should_ ,” he says. “That would be the right thing to do.” The way he says _right thing_ is patronizing, voice clipped and clearly imitating someone else.

Laurent snorts. “When do you ever do what you’re supposed to?”

“I can be very altruistic.”

“I don’t think you’re using that word correctly,” Laurent tells him.

“Fuck you. Yes I am,” Nicaise says, with a glare.

Laurent rolls his eyes.

“So why are you fucking him?” Nicaise asks.

“You saw his dick,” Laurent says.

“Not much, since your mouth was wrapped around it.”

Laurent shrugs. “It’s a fantastic dick and he knows how to use it. Also, he’s giving me an A in French.”

Nicaise shakes his head. “Mr. A’s, like, the nicest teacher at school. I didn’t think he’d be into it.”

Laurent almost feels bad about how much he’s ruining Damen’s reputation here, but he needs Niciase on his side. “That wasn’t the first time we’ve fucked at school.”

Nicaise looks incredulous, and Laurent worries for a moment that he’s tried to take it too far, but Nicaise just says, "But you've only been here a week!”

Laurent smirks. “I’m good at getting what I want.”

“Apparently…” Nicaise rocks on his heels, then says, “Well, you’re out of detention now. You got plans for the day?”

“You kinda interrupted my plans for the day.”

Nicaise suggests they head to his house, which is less than a mile from the school, and it’s not until they’re across the main street and walking through a neighborhood that Nicaise asks, “So how far were you gonna go in an unlocked classroom? If you weren’t trying to get caught then that was pretty fucking stupid. I can’t be friends with an idiot.”

It was pretty fucking stupid, in hindsight, Laurent thinks. He’d been so sure no one else would be in the building on a Saturday that he hadn’t thought it through. “I was working on getting him to take me home,” he says. “What were you doing there anyway?”

“Forgot my tablet,” Nicaise says, and he does have a backpack with him, so Laurent supposes it’s the truth. “You really think he would take you home?” he asks. “He always seems so… y’know, moral. Righteous. I still can’t believe it.”

“You can’t judge a book by it’s cover,” Laurent says. “He was pretty eager to fuck me up against the lockers after track practice.”

They’re at an intersection, and Nicaise pauses to turn an impressed look on Laurent. “Holy shit.”

“It was my idea though,” Laurent adds quickly. “You can’t tell the principal, okay? I’ve got a good thing going here. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Nicaise is frowning a bit now, looking down at the sidewalk as they walk. “You really don’t want me to tell?”

_If it were really what you think it is, I would,_ Laurent thinks. But it’s not, and he can’t tell Nicaise what’s really going on. If he can figure out the source of the drugs, then that’s helping Nicaise more than telling him the truth would, Laurent reminds himself. Despite his words, Nicaise doesn’t actually seem that scandalized by what he saw. He’s fishing for more information, not going on about how it’s gross or wrong, which is what Laurent would have expected from a fifteen-year-old. While Laurent already had Nicaise pegged as a bit of a delinquent, acting out for attention and cursing way more than necessary, it’s intriguing that he doesn’t automatically think sex with a teacher is gross.

“I think I’d die of boredom before graduation if I didn’t have this to look forward to,” Laurent says.

Nicaise rolls his eyes, but relents a bit. “Let me think about it,” he says. It’s a dismissal, but Laurent’s certain that it will come up again if Nicaise asks him to do something and Laurent says no, and he almost admires the kid for manipulating him into a situation where he’ll be beholden to Nicaise in exchange for keeping his mouth shut.

Nicaise lives in a split-level house on the corner, and he leads Laurent inside. “Take your shoes off,” he tells him. “Rick’s a neat freak.”

“Rick?” Laurent asks, toeing off his tennis shoes.

“My foster dad,” Nicaise says.

The house _is_ impeccably clean, but Niciase leads Laurent to a finished basement that’s decidedly… not. It’s clearly Nicaise’s domain, and aside from a lumpy futon the only furniture consists of a couple of ratty cushions on the floor. The coffee table was nice in 1986, probably, but now it has years of watermarks and several open cans of pop on it. There’s a pool table with no balls. There’s a kitchenette in the corner, and Nicaise makes a beeline for it, getting himself sprite and then sprawling out on the futon.

Laurent turns in a circle, wondering what he’s supposed to do.

“Do you play Fortnite?” Niciase asks.

“Uh,” Laurent says. “No.”

Nicaise raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“My step-dad’s really strict,” Laurent lies. “I know, um…” He racks his brain. His brother used to play video games, what were they? “Nintendo.”

“You know ‘Nintendo.’” Niciase says.

Laurent turns away to go look in the fridge. It’s mostly pop, but he finds a can of club soda in the back and grabs that.

Nicaise is still giving him a funny look, so Laurent says, “He won’t buy anything new. But before my parents split up we had a Nintendo. Um… 64? So I know stuff from that one. Now we can’t have any of it in the house.”

“Is he a religious freak?”

“Yes,” Laurent says, coming over to sit on the edge of the futon.

Nicaise nods, like this makes perfect sense. “I’ve lived with a few of those,” he says. “They’re all fuckin’ hypocrites.” He gets off the futon to mess with something on the TV, and comes back after a moment to hand a controller to Laurent. “Here, I’ll show you how to play.”

Laurent is bored with video games after about thirty minutes, but it takes Nicaise more like three hours, four more cans of sprite, and a pizza delivery to tire of them. It reminded Laurent of being in the truck for a stake-out, which he’d always hated. By then it’s dusk, and Laurent is wondering where the mysterious neat-freak Rick is. Nicaise doesn’t seem to find his absence odd though, and instead gets out his phone to text Ancel and Aimeric and invite them over.

“Oh, ew. Ancel’s bringing his boyfriend.”

Laurent racks his brain, trying to remember when Ancel mentioned dating anyone. He wants to kick himself, because he can’t remember. “Boyfriend?”

“That college guy,” Nicaise says, reaching for what’s left of the pizza. “You want any more?”

Laurent shakes his head. “Oh, right.” He pretends he remembers who they’re talking about.

“Maybe he’s old enough to buy us some beer,” Nicaise muses, mouth full.

Berenger, Ancel’s nineteen year old boyfriend, is not old enough to buy them beer. He’s also enough of a stick in the mud, to use Niciase’s term, to look scandalized when asked if he has a decent fake

“You don’t have one?” Laurent asks, honestly curious. Niciase strikes him as the type to have a fake ID.

Aimeric snorts. “Who would believe a fake even if he had one? He looks twelve.”

Nicaise shoots him a dirty look, and gestures to his own face. “I’ve been blessed with youth and beauty, unlike some of you fuckers,” he says. “You’ll be old and wrinkly before you’re twenty-five while I’m still bringing in the sugar daddies at thirty.”

Laurent can only stare at him, while the others snicker, which makes Nicaise cross his arms over his chest. “What about you?” he demands. “Do you have a fake?”

“Sure,” Laurent says.

“Let’s see you go buy us some booze with it then.”

Which is how they wind up at the gas station. The others all wait across the street while Laurent goes inside and uses his real ID, with his real age on it, to purchase a large bottle of cheap vodka. When he returns with the goods, they’re all staring at him, wide-eyed.

“You have got to hook us up with your guy,” Aimeric says. “The cashier in there always checks really closely. He knows everyone in town.”

“Well, must be because I’m new then,” Laurent says. He lifts the bottle. “Cheers.”

Berenger drove them to the gas station, so they start off doing shots of vodka in his backseat, pouring the alcohol into the cap and drinking it from there. Ancel offers one to Berenger, but he shakes his head, which Laurent is grateful because he didn’t want to have to add participating in drunk driving to his report of this night. So far he’s up to providing alcohol to minors and breaking open container laws. It’s probably going to get worse.

If it works, his boss might not kill him.

They stumble back into Niciase’s basement through the garage entrance, with Niciase shushing everyone loudly. “Rick’s not even _here_ ,” Aimeric drawls, gesturing to the empty garage. “Why do we have to be quiet?”

“Because no one wants to hear what you have to say,” Nicaise tells him.

“You are such a bitch, Nic.”

Once inside – after Nicaise has started up one of his video games again but just left it on the loading screen, the music repeating again and again – it becomes a Big Deal that Berenger won’t drink, but he remedies this by producing a joint from his pocket. Laurent reaches for it first. “It has lint on it,” he complains.

“Well if that’s going to stop you,” Ancel says, trying to take it from him.

Laurent holds it up so he can’t reach. “Someone give me a lighter.”

Berenger has that too.

Laurent hasn’t actually smoked pot since college, but that wasn’t that long ago. He likes it better than alcohol. Alcohol makes him feel out of control, like his limbs aren’t his own and are going to do things he doesn’t want them to do, but pot just feels… nice. He feels happy. He feels like he thinks feeling drunk is supposed to feel, without the nausea or the vague wrongness that always settles in the back of his mind.

Aimeric, of course, gets paranoid.

Ancel is worried about him, trying to talk him down while high himself, but Nicaise just looks annoyed. “He _knows_ it makes him paranoid why did he take more than one hit?”

“He’s an idiot?” Laurent suggests.

“Ugh.” Nicaise throws himself down onto the futon, arm dramatically covering his eyes. “I’m surrounded by idiots.” Suddenly his arm comes down, and he’s looking at Laurent, eyes narrowed and way too sober. “You’re, like, the only kind of smart person I know.”

“Thanks?”

“No, you’re like, super smart. You don’t get caught.”

“Caught at what?”

“At anything!” Nicaise throws his arms up. “You’re fucking a goddamn teacher and no one knows about it.”

“Wait, _what_?!” Aimeric demands, picking himself up off the floor so that he can gape at Laurent, eyebrows higher than Laurent thought they could physically go.

“Well, thanks for keeping that secret,” Laurent says, glaring at Niciase.

“Which teacher?” Aimeric asks, clearly desperate for the gossip.

“Oh, I bet it’s Mr. Pallas,” Ancel says.

“But he’s a total twink,” Aimeric argues.

“So what, you think he’s fucking _Mr. Makedon_?” Ancel crosses his arms, and turns to Laurent for confirmation. Laurent is so stunned by these guesses that it must show on his face, because Ancel’s smug look drops and he says, “Oh, it’s not really Mr. Mack is it? He’s, uh… nice? It’s just that Pallas is really hot. _And_ he teaches gym.”

Nicaise starts laughing so hard he nearly falls off the futon.

“I really don’t any of you need to know–“

“He’s fucking Mr. A,” Nicaise manages to get out, taking in gasping breaths as he calms down. “Mr. Makedon, can you imagine? He’s so big and hairy. His cock is probably like–“

“I don’t really want to think about his cock, thanks,” Laurent cuts him off.

“Mr. _Akielon_?” Ancel says. “But he’s so…”

“There’s no way he’d fuck a student,” Aimeric says. He shakes his head. “You’re lying.”

“I saw them,” Nicaise says. “So it’s definitely true. Unless you want to call me a liar too.”

Aimeric seems less inclined to go there, but still looks like he doesn’t believe it.

Berenger is frowning at him. “He’s not forcing you or anything, is he?”

Laurent stares at Berenger for a moment. “No, of course not.”

“Just, if he is, we could help.”

“It’s not like that,” Laurent says. “I went after him.”

They ask a lot of other questions that Laurent mostly refuses to answer, and the topic doesn’t die until Berenger offers to give everyone rides home at sometime around one a.m. Nicaise insists Laurent stay the night, and Laurent makes a show to texting his ‘parents’ to let them know where he is.

Laurent’s not sure why he’s the only one who’s been invited to stay the night until Niciase’s foster dad, Rick, finally gets home around three a.m. Niciase has insisted they wait up for him, so that Laurent can meet him.

Rick, it turns out, is dealing drugs out of his trunk and agrees when Nicaise tells him how great Laurent would be at distribution. Laurent tries not to shift away when Rick clamps a hand on his shoulder and says, “Perfect, we’ve been needing someone else inside the school.”

“What about Aimeric and Ancel?” Laurent asks Nicaise, later, when he’s lying on the trundle bed in Nicaise’s room in the dark.

“Those idiots?” Nicaise says. “They’d fuck up the entire thing within an hour.”

“So they don’t know anything.”

“Of course not.”

Laurent had thought it was all three of them. He’d figured on Nicaise being the ringleader, despite his age, but he’d thought it was all three boys. Now it looks like the entire thing hinges on a fifteen-year-old and his foster dad.

Fuck.

\- - -

Laurent texts his boss to check in the next morning: _I’ve been accepted into their inner circle. Multiple crimes committed. Have become high school drug dealer._

Halvik’s reply is swift: _Knew you were the one for this job._


	6. Chapter 6

Damen spends Saturday so anxious about what Laurent and Nicaise are doing that, when Nikandros calls him around seven, he’s certain it’s to tell him the police are on the way. Nik is a buddy, maybe he’s calling to tell him to skip town? Except no, Nik is the principal. Nik wouldn’t do that. If Nik thought Damen was fucking a student he’d… well, first he’d be shocked, but then he’d be so goddamn  _ disappointed _ in Damen. Then he’d get angry. He’d throw the book at him. He’d never help him get away with it.

Nik asks him if he wants to go to the bar.

The relief that surges through Damen’s body contrasts so sharply with the anxiety that it feels like a rush itself. He says yes.

Nik is already at the bar when Damen gets there, nursing a beer, and Damen slides onto the barstool next to him.

“How was detention?” Nik asks, as they wait for the bartender.

Damen pretends to look over the list of drafts, like he isn’t going to order the same domestic beer he always does. “It was fine.”

“Really?” Nik asks, tone suggestive.

Damen looks over at him. “Why?”

“Because I heard Laurent Marlas left in the middle of it.”

“Oh… Well yes, he did. So he’s in trouble, obviously. But otherwise it was fine. Nothing to report.” The bartender turns up and at the last second Damen changes his mind and orders the [beer].

“And you just, what? Let him leave?” Nik asks, after Damen has his beer.

“What did you want me to do? Tie him down?” Damen asks. Now  _ there’s _ a thought. Laurent would probably let him, if Damen suggested it. As long as there were no marks that couldn’t be hidden.

Nik lets out a deep sigh. “He’s a bigger problem than I was expecting.”

“You expected the new kid to be a problem?”

Nik shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“He’s probably just having trouble adjusting after transferring in the middle of the school year,” Damen says.  _ Along with hiding the fact that he’s fucking a teacher, and whatever his job is, and how he’s not actually a teenager _ , he thinks.

Nik takes a long drink of his beer. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

The conversation thankfully turns away from Laurent after that, but unfortunately circles around to Jokaste and Kastor not too long after the second round starts.

“You seem much less…” Nik gestures with the hand holding his beer, sloshing a bit out of the glass. He reaches for a napkin.

“Less what?” Damen asks. Nik shrugs. “Oh, just say it,” Damen tells him.

“Less hung up on it.”

Damen looks at his beer.

“It’s good!” Nik insists. “I just don’t know how it happened so fast. Did you meet someone or something?”

“Or something,” Damen mutters.

“Wait you met someone and didn’t tell me.” Nik pushes his shoulder, jostling him on the barstool. “Damen! C’mon, spill. Who is she?” When Damen doesn’t answer right away, Nik adds, “He?”

Trying to think fast, Damen says, “She. Her name is… Lauren. Very hot. Blonde. Amazing. I’ll introduce you someday. She’s… uh… really busy with work right now, so it’s hard to get time to see her.”

“What does she do?”

“Some kind of business thing.”

“Huh,” Nik says. “Well, I’m glad you met someone else. Even if it’s another blonde after I told you try a brunette for a change.”

Damen laughs and shrugs sheepishly. 

\- - -

Damen wakes up with a slight hangover on Sunday, and doesn’t hear from Laurent at all. Which leads to him drinking alone in his apartment to try and combat the anxious feeling in his gut that evening, and waking up with a worse hangover on Monday morning. He has to go in to work anyway, and sits at his desk with his coffee, glaring at the back of the room where Ancel and Aimeric are hanging out and playing music on a bluetooth radio.

“Want to turn off the music, boys?” Damen calls over to them.

Ancel looks over at him, expression coolly appraising. “Not really,” he says.

Damen stares back him. “Well, do it anyway.”

Ancel keeps giving him that look for a long moment, then turns away and does, thankfully, turn the music off. Other students start trickling in. Nicaise and Laurent are the last to arrive, looking thick as thieves. They make a beeline for the back of the room, and Laurent doesn’t really look at Damen all through homeroom. It’s not until the bell has rung and everyone is leaving that he walks past Damen’s desk and says, “See you in French class, Mr. A.,” then breezes out the door, Nicaise on his heels, and a peel of laughter – from Nicaise, it sounds like – drifting back in from the hallway.

Damen stares after them, wondering what the fuck is going on.

French class is no better. He gives out a short pop quiz at the beginning of class, and plans to check it over while they do some in class conversation time and hand it back at the end of class, but everyone grumbles about it, even his good students.

Laurent, Nicaise, and Ancel group together at the back of the room, and they all have their phones out, clearly texting each other. Damen debates telling them to put it away, but is afraid he’d get that all too knowing look from Ancel again, and that he might  _ say _ something this time. It’s distracting though, since the class is small, and in the front row Kallias keeps turning around to glare at them, then to shoot an expectant look at Damen.

“Okay, put the cellphones away,” Damen finally announces.

“We’re texting in French,” Ancel immediately argues.

“No, you’re not,” Damen says.

“Well, I am,” Nicaise says.

“Is that why it doesn’t make any sense?” Laurent asks.

Nicaise kicks his desk.

“Cellphones. Away,” Damen says again. “Or I’ll confiscate them.”

Nicaise gives him a wide-eyed look, “But Mr. A, if you take our phones how would you get in touch with us?”

Laurent kicks Nicaise’s desk now.

Damen frowns at him, not even sure what Nicaise is getting at, since he’s never needed to text or call Nicaise for anything. “Just… put them away. Now.” They do,  _ finally _ . “And someone conjugate this verb.”

None of them offer to do that, but Erasmus raises his hand, so class resumes.

The conversation time goes as well as he expected, which is to say horribly. Erasmus and Kallias are focused, and so are a few other kids, but Nicaise claims Laurent for a partner which leaves Ancel as the odd one out, and he spends the entire time pouting about it and not participating with his partner. Laurent and Nicaise are muttering about something that’s clearly not related to visiting the French Riveria for a vacation and ordering lunch, but Damen needs to grade these quizzes so he can’t check on every single one of the groups.

He gets to Laurent’s quiz and nearly leaves a pen mark all the way across it in shock. Instead of purposefully failing, Laurent has answered everything correctly. Damen eyes the paper like it’s going to explode, but gives it the A+ it deserves. He looks up at Laurent, but Laurent is head down in whatever conversation he’s having with Nicaise.

“Most of you did really well! These were really just practice, to see where you’re at, so don’t worry too much if you didn’t do as well as you hoped. There’s lots of time to improve before the exam,” Damen says, before he passes the quizzes back.

Nicaise glares at his paper as soon as he gets it back. “90 percent! For missing two questions? Are you fucking with me?”

“Language,” Damen says.

Nicaise repeats the question, in French this time. Damen presses his lips together to stop himself from laughing and looks away, handing Laurent back his paper.

“What did you get?” Niciase demands.

“100 percent,” Laurent says, without even turning the paper over to look.

Nicaise snatched the paper off Laurent’s desk to look. “Oh, fuck you,” he says. “You don’t even speak French.”

Ancel glares at him. “Well, not all of us have fucked our way to the top.”

Damen chokes on his spit, and goes into a coughing fit that takes him a solid minute to recover from. By the time he does, Ancel is smirking.

“Okay there, Mr. A.?” he asks.

“Fine,” Damen manages to say. He swallows hard, hands back the rest of the quizzes, and tries to pass the remaining time until the bell rings without any other incidents.

He nearly makes it, but then Laurent lingers at his desk, telling Nicaise and Ancel to go on without him.

Nicaise nearly cackles. “Make sure you lock the door,” he says, over his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Damen says, head in his hands. Thankfully the other students were gone already before Nicaise said that, but what if they hadn’t been?  _ What if? _

Laurent stands in front of Damen’s desk, thumbs looped over the straps of his backpack. “Are you free tonight?”

Damen raises his head from his hands, dragging them as he does so. He wants to say no, but what comes out is, “Maybe.”

“I’ll come by your place,” Laurent says.

Then he’s gone, out the door and into the flow of students in the hallway.

Damen remains at his desk for a long time, wondering how he’s let everything go so far off track.

\- - -

Laurent shows up late, not in his school uniform but still dressed as a ‘teenager’, and when Damen opens the door the find him on the doorstep all he can do is ask, “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Laurent asks.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Damen says. “What the hell was going on in class today? What happened with Nicaise over the weekend? How does Ancel know about us?”

Laurent steps inside, one hand against Damen’s chest to push him back, and closes the door behind him. “Nicaise isn’t going to be a problem. He’s… oddly okay with the whole thing. I didn’t get into why with him, but I have some suspicions.”

“Suspicions?” Damen asks.

“He’s very blasé about fucking older men.”

It takes Damen a moment to understand what Laurent is implying, but then he blanches. “Isn’t he in foster care?”

Laurent sighs. “I’m working on it.”

“How exactly?”

“His foster dad is coming over later.”

Damen stares down at Laurent, utterly at a loss for words.

“I have a plan,” Laurent insists.

It’s a bad plan, Damen thinks, as soon as he hears it. For several reasons, number one being that it relies on Damen being able to act. He tries telling Laurent this, but Laurent insists it’s a  _ great _ plan, foolproof, and then points out that they have an hour to kill so they should have sex.

“It’s a bad plan,” Damen insists, shirt halfway over his head on the way down the hallway.

“None of my plans are bad,” Laurent says. His hand is on Damen’s side, cool against his newly exposed skin, and then he leans in, licking over a nipple. Damen groans.

“Stop worrying,” Laurent tells him, before using his teeth.

They make it to the bedroom, the remainder of their clothes landing in a heap on the floor, and Laurent sprawls out on the bed on his back. “I want you to fuck me, Mr. A.”

“No,” Damen says, stopping where he’s standing next to the bed, looking for a condom in the drawer. “I want you, not… that.”

Laurent props himself up on his elbows. “I thought you liked that.”

“I do,” Damen says, since there’s no sense in denying it. “But I also like  _ you _ , the real you.”

Laurent’s frowning, but says, “Alright.”

Damen finds a condom and lube and sets it down, then climbs onto the bed next to Laurent, hovering over him. He brushes a strand of hair out of his face. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m already naked in your bed,” Laurent says. “There’s little need for flattery.”

“I’m just stating facts,” Damen says. He leans down to kiss Laurent, lips feathery against his forehead, then his nose, his cheek, the side of his mouth. “Hands down the most beautiful person I’ve ever had in my bed.”

“Had a lot of them?”

“Hmm,” Damen says, avoiding an answer to that. He hadn’t meant to open that topic. He kisses Laurent on the lips, and Laurent opens his mouth, responding to it. Laurent tries to make it a deeper kiss, but Damen keeps it light, then moves on, mouth trailing along Laurent’s jaw. He has a bit of stubble, this late in the day, and it tingles against Damen’s lips.

Laurent tilts his head, giving Damen better access to his neck. “We really don’t have time for this much foreplay,” he says.

“I like kissing you.”

“Do something else while you kiss me,” Laurent tells him.

Damen reaches down to palm Laurent’s cock, already half-hard, and murmurs against the skin beneath his ear, “Like this?”

“Getting closer,” Laurent says, hips shifting. “Where’s that strawberry lube?”

Damen laughs. “I think you used it all.”

“You didn’t buy me more?”

“Sorry, no.”

Laurent pouts as Damen moves away, leaning across the bed to retrieve the lube. “I liked the strawberry.”

“I only have regular,” Damen says. “I’ll get you flavored next time.”

Laurent examines the tube Damen hands him, deems it satisfactory, and hands it back. “Maybe orange next time. I like oranges.”

“You do?” Damen asks, settling onto his knees on the bed. He spreads the lube onto his fingers.

Laurent lies back, knees spread, and helpfully manages to hook his knees over Damen’s pulling himself closer. Damen raises an eyebrow, but Laurent just smirks. “I like citrus fruit,” he says.

Damen, who’d been staring at Laurent’s cock, had totally forgotten they were discussing fruit. “Right, citrus. Lemons?”

“What? No. Who likes lemons?”

Damen looks back up at Laurent’s face. “What?”

“What?” Laurent frowns. “Would you just finger me already?”

“Oh god yes,” Damen says. He strokes Laurent’s cock a few times first, until he’s fully hard and his thighs have tensed a bit, where they’re hooked over Damen’s, then he squeezes some more lube onto his hand and strokes his finger over Laurent’s hole, circling it gentling. Laurent shifts his hips, as close as Damen knows he’ll get to a plea for more – when he’s not acting, that is. Giving him what he’s asking for is easy. Damen wants to give Laurent everything he asks for, especially the things he doesn’t say in words. He wants to give him his fingers and strawberry lube and everything else – an A in class, going along with this crazy plan, his heart and soul.

Laurent squeezes down around the two fingers Damen has worked into him, squirming a bit, and asks, “What are you thinking?”

Caught going on an utterly sappy tangent, Damen reigns it in and says, “That you’re tight and hot and perfect.”

Laurent looks skeptical. “You had a weird look on your face.”

“My face is normal.”

“Your face is too far away. Kiss me.”

Damen leans forward, folding himself nearly in half to reach Laurent to kiss him. It’s weird angle, but they’re both flexible, and halfway through the kiss Damen’s hand gets jostled in a way that makes Laurent squeak into the kiss.

Damen pulls back. “Are you okay?”

“Uh huh.” Laurent nods. “Do that again.”

“This?” Damen tries to move his hand in the same motion. 

Laurent’s face does something complicated, mouth opening a bit as he sucks in a quick breath. “Yes,” he hisses.

Damen works a third finger in, focusing on stretching him open now.

“Enough,” Laurent says eventually, one hand landing on Damen’s wrist and stilling him. “We don’t have forever, and I really want you to fuck me tonight.”

“I thought we had an hour,” Damen says.

“You’ve wasted half of it on foreplay,” Laurent says.

“Foreplay’s not a waste,” Damen argues, but he gets on with things anyway.

Once Damen has the condom on, everything else seems easy. The position they’re in – Damen on his knees, with Laurent on his back, legs splayed wide around Damen’s waist – is good for pulling Laurent down onto his cock, and he holds onto Laurent’s waist as he works himself inside in short thrusts until he’s in to the hilt. 

Laurent’s grabbed hold of the blanket with one fist, and it’s twisted under him now, as messy as his hair. His face and chest are flushed. He looks gorgeous. Damen wants to kiss him, but can’t reach him in this position, so settles for tightening his hold on his waist and pulling nearly all the way out, then thrusting back in.

Laurent closes his eyes, breathing hard. “God, your cock is amazing.”

“Don’t you mean I’m amazing?”

“Yeah, you too.”

Damen can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Or that it interrupts his rhythm. Or that the next thing he thinks is  _ Fucking hell, I think I love you. _

Laurent’s eyes open, like he can sense what Damen’s thinking, and his expression is quizzical, but then Damen manages to hit his prostate, and his head tilts back again, neck arched. Damen thinks about putting his hands there, and that Laurent would trust him enough to let him, and that thought bubbles up again.

_ You’re a sap, Akielon _ , Damen tells himself.

Laurent orgasms first, reacting to Damen fucking him and Damen’s hand on his cock. He comes messily over his stomach and goes limp across Damen’s lap and Damen keeps fucking him through it.

Damen starts to pull out afterwards, because Laurent’s going to be too sensitive, but Laurent reaches for him and says, “No, keep going. I want you come inside me.”

“God,” Damen mutters. “You’re…” But the next words won’t come because he’s already said  _ perfect _ and  _ amazing _ and they’re all he can think right now. He’s pretty sure he does love Laurent and that it’s not just his cock doing the thinking, but he also knows it’s too soon and too crazy for that right now, so he shuts his mouth and grabs Laurent’s hips and thrusts until his mind blanks out, for a long, blissful moment, with orgasm.

They’re still collapsed on the bed, naked, catching their breath when there’s a loud knock on the front door.

Laurent jerks upright. “Oh shit,” he says. “It’s Rick.” He’s out of bed in a flash, hunting around on the floor for his clothes. “Hurry, get dressed!”

Damen’s brain isn’t catching up as fast. “Rick?”

Laurent finds his jeans and pulls them on commando, followed by Damen’s shirt. “Clothes. Now,” he says, heading off down the hallway.

Damen gives up on the clothes they left in a trail down the hallway, and just grabs new stuff from the dresser. Sweatpants and a t-shirt should be good enough for a drug deal, right?

When he gets to the living room, Laurent has already let Rick inside.

Rick eyes Damen, then gives Laurent a once over. “Did I interrupt something?” he asks, with an exaggerated wink at Damen.

Well, that’s gross. “No, you didn’t,” Damen says.

Rick is still smirking in a way that makes Damen’s skin crawl, but Laurent ignores the entire exchange and asks, “Did you bring the stuff?”

Rick shrugs. “Not as much as you told me to. He  _ is _ a teacher. I figured he’d be too straight-laced to be interested, no matter what you said, but I guess I was wrong about  _ that _ .”

Laurent sighs, annoyed. “Did you bring  _ anything _ ? Why even bother showing up if you didn’t think he was gonna buy?”

“I was curious,” Rick says. “I’ve got enough to hold you over for a bit, then you can handle any future transactions. How’s that?”

Laurent shifts from foot to foot, an action that makes him look like an unsure teenager, especially with his feet still bare. “I dunno, I guess.” He glances over at Damen, which is Damen’s reminder that he’s supposed to be doing something here and not just standing around like a statue.

“So, uh… what’ve you got?” he asks Rick.

Rick pulls a ziploc baggie out of his pocket, about a fourth full of white powder. Damen’s only ever seen heroin on tv, or in the presentation they give at school, so he’s not exactly sure how you tell it apart from cocaine, but heroin is what’s been going around the school and what Laurent said Rick was dealing, so it’s a safe bet it’s heroin in the bag and not something else.

Rick shakes the bag, which pulls Damen out of his musings. “Oh, uh… looks great,” he says, trying for enthusiasm.

“It should last you for awhile,” Rick says. “Laurent here should always have more available since he’s working for me now too.”

“Um… How much?” Damen asks, wondering if he’s going to have to wing negotiating the price down too. He’s awful at haggling.

Rick names his price, and Damen reaches for his pocket for the cash Laurent gave him earlier, only to realize he’d put the cash in the pants he was wearing earlier, not these. “Hang on, I’ll be right back,” he tells them.

Laurent is shooting him a glare over Rick’s shoulder, but turns it back into a generically bland expression when Rick turns toward him as Damen backs away. He finds the cash in the jeans that he left on the threshold of his bedroom, and hurries back to the living room as quickly as he can. The entire time he was down the hall, he could hear Rick asking Laurent about how he got into bed with a teacher, and it’s not until Damen rounds the corner back into the room and says, “Got it,” that Rick stops.

Laurent takes a step back, away from where Rick was leaning into his face, and moves over to Damen’s side. Damen starts to hand the money to him, but Laurent shakes his head and gestures to Rick, so Damen hands it to him directly instead. “It’s all there,” he says.

“I’m gonna count it anyway,” Rick says. “You understand.”

“Yeah, sure,” Damen says, stuffing his hands in his pocket for something to do with them while they wait for Rick to count the cash.

Once Rick is satisfied, he holds the drugs out to Laurent to take, but Laurent shakes his head again. “I think Mr. A. wants to try it first,” he says.

Damen snatches the baggie from Rick’s hand, remembering now that Laurent had said he had to be the one to handle the cash and drugs, that Laurent couldn’t do it. 

“Everything look good, Mr A.?” Laurent asks.

“Looks like heroin, so… yeah, I guess.”

“Great!” Laurent says, voice bright. Then he turns to Rick. “So you’re under arrest now.”

Rick laughs. “Hilarious, kid.”

Laurent produces handcuffs from somewhere on his person – Damen honestly has no idea  _ where _ he was keeping them – and says, “Oh, I’m serious. And I’m not a kid.” He reaches for Rick’s wrist and slaps the first cuff on. It clicks into place before Rick can even react, and then Laurent grabbing Rick’s arm and spinning him around to face the wall, shoving him up against it and pulling his other arm back. Rick doesn’t even start to struggle until he’s already cuffed, and Laurent just pushes him to sit on the floor.

“I’m going to kill you, you fucking nutcase!” Rick is shouting, along with other obscenities.

“Do you, um, need a hand with that?” Damen asks.

“No, I got it,” Laurent says. He pulls out his phone and calls someone to tell them to come by with the car, then turns back to Rick and starts reciting actual Miranda rights at him. 

The whole event is just like on the crime shows Damen watches. Except Laurent is wearing Damen’s old college t-shirt and skinny jeans, rather than a uniform or suit. Which makes it hotter, actually.

Eventually some other cops show up, and Damen’s apartment becomes a bit of a circus. Someone takes Rick away to jail. Someone else finally takes the bag of heroin that Damen’s been holding on to. Then a really tall woman wearing a leather coat with a big fur collar walks in, looks around, spots Laurent and says, “You lost me fifty dollars in the betting pool. I had you finishing this job in the middle of lunch or something dramatic like that.”

Laurent shrugs. “I was trying to avoid involving any more of the kids than necessary.” 

The woman’s expression doesn’t soften, but she does tilt her head a bit in acknowledgment. “Did he have a partner?”

“Just the supplier. I suspect he’ll give them up for a plea deal.”

She nods. “Anything else?”

“He has a foster child at home that he’s been using to traffic the drugs. We need to send social services over there tonight to get him.”

“I’ll call someone,” she says. “It’s late, we can wrap up statements tomorrow. Deal with the school.” Her hand comes down to clap Laurent on the shoulder. “Good job, De Vere.”

Laurent looks startled at the praise. “Thanks, Halvik,” he says.

Halvik just nods at Damen before leaving again, following another officer who’s saying something to her about the heroin chain of custody.

He turns to Laurent once everyone is gone and his apartment feels empty again. “Is that… it?”

“You’ll need to give a statement tomorrow,” Laurent says. He frowns, licking his upper lip nervously. “I’d, uh, appreciate it if you left out anything about us sleeping together.”

“Sure,” Damen says. “I don’t really want Nikandros to find out either.”

Laurent’s frown deepens. “Isn’t he your best friend?”

“He takes being principal really seriously. He’d freak out about there even being a rumor I was sleeping with a student. Actually, he might not care that you weren’t a student. He’d be so pissed at me. He can never know.”

“Oh,” Laurent says. There’s a very brief moment where his face betrays what he’s thinking, and it falls sharply, like he was expecting Damen to say something else. But it’s brief, like every flash that Damen gets of what Laurent really feels about something, and then it’s hidden behind that wall that Damen hasn’t quite cracked yet. Laurent’s face isn’t showing anything anymore, just a slight frown. “That makes sense, of course,” he’s already saying, before Damen can stop him.

Damen almost blurts out his thoughts from earlier, about giving Laurent everything. It’s close to what he feels, but he hasn’t examined what he feels to really give it a name yet, so instead he says, “Maybe we can pretend we got together after this? That we met because of it and nothing happened until after you weren’t pretending to be a student anymore? Then maybe he won’t kill me.”

Laurent’s looks up at him, his eyes narrowed just a bit, cautious, but there’s a tiny upturn to his lips. “Yeah, we could do that.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning is chaotic. Laurent stayed the night before, but that just meant he had to leave before the sun was up to go back home to get ready. He’d held up the band t-shirt he’d shown up in and said with relish, “Finally, the last time I have to wear  _ this _ .” So Damen thinks he might get to see the return of the slacks and blazer from the night they’d met, which he’s kind of looking forward to. Laurent had looked good in that outfit. And as kinky as the school uniform and the teenage stuff is, he looks more like himself dressed as an adult.

Laurent had told Damen to be at the police station before work, so Damen shows up there early to give his statement. The officer taking it, Kashel, sticks to questions about how Damen discovered Laurent was undercover and how he’d gotten involved in the case and Damen tries to lie as little as possible. He and Laurent met in a bar the night before Laurent started at the school, so Damen had confronted him either not being a student, or being a student with a fake ID. From there, Laurent had come to him when he needed intel on the students, and then Damen had offered to help in the final arrest. It’s a good story. It’s family friendly and leaves out all the incredibly hot sex they were having in semi-public spaces.

Kashel doesn’t look like she believes it, but she dutifully writes it down anyway.

Once that’s done, Damen still winds up getting to work early, which is good because he’s directed straight to the principal’s office by the resource officer.

It’s crowded with Laurent, his boss Halvik, Nikandros, and Niciase, along with a woman Damen doesn’t know. The social worker they’d called last night, perhaps. When he walks in Laurent is saying something about having any charges against Nicaise dropped because of his ultimate assistance in the case. Nikandros acknowledges Damen with a nod, but otherwise keeps his attention on Laurent.

“Assistance?” Nikandros asks. “You just told me Nicaise was the one selling drugs here at school.”

“Yes,” Laurent says. “But only because he had no choice, due to his abusive foster father.”

“My what?” Nicaise asks. “I never said–“

“The man was forcing you to sell drugs. That’s abuse,” Laurent tells Nicaise.

Damen hovers by the door, watching the scene unfold.

“It is not,” Nicaise argues. “A teacher fucking a student though,  _ that’s _ abuse. And you seemed fine with that.”

Laurent’s back stiffens. Damen wonders if he can just duck back out the door and make a run for it.

“What?” Nikandros demands, all attention on Nicaise now.

Nicaise soaks it in, lifting his chin and crossing his arms over his chest. “Laurent here was fucking Mr. A. I saw them in his classroom.”

“I’m not a student,” Laurent says.

“You said you were,” Nicaise says viciously. “How was I to know you were an undercover pig?”

Nikandros is looking between Damen and Laurent, lips pressing into a thinner and thinner line by the moment. “Is this true?”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” Damen says, raising one hand placatingly. “We were–“

Nikandros turns to Halvik. “You allow this conduct from your officers?” he asks, voice clipped.

Nicaise is grinning now, as he watches Nikandros get more and more upset.

Halvik just shrugs. “De Vere got the job done.”

“Is that all that you think matters here?”

She frowns at Nikandros. “You wanted the drugs out of your school. You wanted kids to stop ODing and dying on your watch. He fixed that for you. I don’t much care who he fucks after hours.”

Laurent tries to break in: “It’s really not what Nicaise is making it sound like.”

Nikandros turns back to Nicaise. “How many people know about this? How many students?”

Nicaise tries to hide his smirk. “Well, I saw them and then  _ I _ only told Ancel and Aimeric because I’m a good friend and promised Laurent, who I  _ thought _ was my friend, I’d keep it quiet, so… probably the whole school?”

Nikandros looks up at Damen, expression unreadable. “Everyone, get out.”

“We still need to–“ the social worker starts to say.

“Later,” Nikandros says. “Damen, you stay.”

Halvik rolls her eyes. “Our department is done here, anyway. We won’t be pressing charges against any of the minors involved.” She motions to Nicaise’s social worker. “Come, let’s discuss his statement.”

Damen steps aside to let the two women leave. Nicaise trails after them, and gives Damen a devilish smirk as he goes. Damen’s never hated a student before, and he tries very hard not to do so now. Nicaise has issues, he reminds himself. He’s lashing out.

“It’s really not what Nicaise made it sound like,” Laurent says, not leaving with the others. “And I highly doubt the rumor has spread that far. They just found out over the weekend.”

“Oh, then I’m surprised the whole town doesn’t know by now,” Nikandros says. “Seriously, get out of my office. I need to talk to my staff member about his conduct.”

Laurent takes a breath like he’s going to say something else, but Damen steps up behind him and places a hand on his shoulder. “Go, it’s fine.”

“It’s not–“

“Go.”

Laurent goes. The door swings shut behind him with a bang.

Nikandros doesn’t waste any time before exploding with, “What the fuck, Damen?!”

Damen doesn’t say anything.

“What were you  _ thinking _ ? Were you thinking at all? He was here as a  _ student _ . How did you even know he was really an adult? He had everyone else fooled.”

“I met him at a bar the night before he started the job here,” Damen says. “I knew he wasn’t a student from the beginning.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes,” Damen says. It’s not quite a lie. He’d doubted, that first day, but it wasn’t the same as fucking Laurent while thinking he was a student. “Nik, you know me. You know I’d never do anything inappropriate with a student.”

“How did Nicaise find out then?”

Damen winces.

“Nothing inappropriate, huh?”

“I thought the door was locked.”

“So you didn’t fuck a student, but you did fuck your boyfriend on school property where students could and did see you.”

All Damen can do is nod miserably. There’s no talking his way out of that one.

“I should fire you for that,” Nik says.

It takes a moment for Damen to realize he said ‘should’, which implies that he’s not going to. “But?” Damen asks.

Nikandros sinks down into his desk chair with a deep sigh. “But I’m not going to.”

“Nik,” Damen says. “Thank you. Really. Nothing like this will ever happen again, I swear it.”

Nikandros just shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. If I fire you I’d have to say  _ why _ I’d fired you, and then it would be a huge news story and scandal. It’s the last thing I need right now.” He leans back in his chair, but locks his gaze on Damen’s. “To be clear, if he had been a student, you’d be headed to jail right now.”

Damen can only nod.

“And Laurent is going to be banned from school grounds after this.”

That feels harsh, but then again, Laurent won’t have much reason to come to the school now that this case is over.

“We need to do something to explain that he was never a student,” Nikandros goes on. “To quash any rumor that you were sleeping with a student.”

“Or that I would give out grades for sex,” Damen says.

“ _ What? _ ”

Damen shifts from foot to foot. “That might have been what the kids assumed was going on…”

Nik is silent for a long moment. Damen starts to say something, but Nik holds up a hand, silencing him. It’s a few minutes of awkward silence before he finally says, “What about an assembly? Laurent can come in uniform –  _ police _ uniform – and discuss the dangers of drug use. Introduce himself as a police officer and explain that he was undercover.”

“Laurent won’t like that,” Damen says.

“I don’t give two shits what Laurent likes and doesn’t like,” Nikandros says. “Get him back in here so we can discuss his presentation.”

\- - -

At the assembly, Laurent takes a bow after handing the mic back over to Nikandros and gets a round of applause from the kids. Damen’s watching from near the doors, and Laurent spots him easily, heading straight for him as Nik takes over with the second half of the assembly – a pep rally of some sort, it looks like.

“What did you think?” Laurent asks.

“I’m not sure they understood the scrambled egg ‘your brain on drugs’ reference,” Damen says.

“Better if they didn’t,” Laurent says. “They’ll think I came up with it.”

Damen huffs out a laugh at that, and says, “No, really, it was good. You’re good at talking to them.”

Laurent shrugs. Then he glances over his shoulder, back where Nik is now doing something that involves the school mascot, a senior in a geoduck costume. “Think anyone will miss us if we play hooky?” Laurent asks.

“What did you have in mind?”

Laurent leans in close to his space, shoulders touching, and says under his breath, “I know you wanted to fuck me in the principal’s office. Now’s your last chance.”

Then he’s gone, spun on his heel and out the door, leaving Damen staring out at the cheerleaders as they perform a routine to a mashup of pop songs. It takes him about thirty seconds of indecision, during which he tracks Nik’s position and finds him seated in the front row of the bleachers, next to Guion, before he too is out the door, following after Laurent.

He finds Laurent at the door to Nik’s office, which is locked. “I don’t have a key,” Damen says.

“I have a lockpick,” Laurent says, and sure enough he does, pulling the kit from his back pocket and setting to work on the lock. It’s open in another minute, and Laurent grabs Damen’s hand to pull him inside, palm warm against Damen’s. It makes Damen feel like he’s a teenager, sneaking around the school, instead of a teacher expected to run the place.

“Nik is going to kill me,” he says. They’re behind Nik’s desk now, and Laurent nudges Damen up against it, leaning up to kiss him, a quick peck.

“He’ll never know,” Laurent murmurs, against Damen’s lips.

“Oh, he’ll know.”

“Better be quick then,” Laurent says. He pushes away from Damen just a bit, and reaches down to tug at his belt. “Come on, a quickie in the principal’s office. How do you want it, Mr. A.?”

Damen’s been thinking about this, actually, and cups Laurent’s jaw with his hands, tilting his face up so that he can kiss him. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, after, lips still resting against Laurent’s.

He can feel Laurent’s surprise, and adds, “I want everything with you.”

“Now you’re being sappy,” Laurent says. “There’s no time for that.”

“For being sappy or for fucking?”

“Either,” Laurent says. He pecks Damen on the lips again, then goes back to work on his pants. “Come on, off with these.”

“What do you want to do?” Damen asks, helping to shove his pants and underwear down around his thighs. The edge of Nik’s desk digs into his ass.

Laurent’s hand is already on Damen’s cock, grip firm and sure around the base. “What was your fantasy about this place? Fucking someone over the desk?”

“Not someone,” Damen says. “You.”

Laurent adjusts a bit. “Sitting in the chair while I’m under the desk, sucking your cock?”

Oh, there’s a thought. The way Nik’s desk is designed it’s possible the entire thing could be hidden if someone walked in…

His cock twitches in Laurent’s hand. “There it is,” Laurent says, with a smirk.

“You’re a fiend,” Damen tells him.

“Sit in the chair, Principal Akielon.” Laurent lets go of him and steps away, leaning back against the desk himself.

“Oh my god.” Damen sits in the principal’s chair, pushing it further away from the desk as he does. “We’re not really role playing that, are we?”

Laurent steps in front of him, the fingers of one hand tracing lightly over Damen’s bare thigh. “I can be a naughty student.”

“I know you can,” Damen says. “But I really do just want  _ you _ , right now.”

Laurent rolls his eyes, but leans down to kiss him. “I told you there was no time for sap.”

Despite his words, there’s a cautious little tilt to Laurent’s head, that bird-like thing he does when he’s unsure or questioning things. Damen’s starting to think that maybe they’ve been  _ too _ into the roleplay lately, since Laurent keeps offering it every time like he thinks that’s the only thing Damen is into. “Better get on with the blow job then,” Damen tells him. The nice, regular blow job where neither of them pretend to be anyone they’re not.

Laurent drops to his knees in a smooth, practiced motion, hands moving up Damen’s thighs. One circles the base of his cock again, his grip firm, before he squeezes and slides it down towards the already flushed head. “I’m sure you’ve been told this,” Laurent says, leaning in to press his lips against the side of Damen’s cock in a teasing kiss, “but you have a magnificent dick.”

“Not in those exact words,” Damen chokes out.

“Just,” Laurent says, “truly spectacular.” He punctuates each word with a wet, sloppy kiss, and then rests his lips against the head, the touch utterly maddeningly with how close, yet how far it is from what Damen wants.

Damen groans. “There’s no time for teasing either, Laurent.”

“Mmm,” Laurent says. He swipes his tongue against the head of Damen’s cock, as slowly as if he’s licking an ice cream cone. “Say my name again.”

Damen says it, voice slurring the last syllable into blur as Laurent finally takes his cock into his mouth.

Laurent is  _ ver _ y good at giving blow jobs. He’s been very good at it from the first night Damen met him, when he seemed to figure out what Damen liked within the first five minutes and then went about applying it methodically. This time is no exception, and Damen keeps a tight hold on the arms of the chair to avoid bucking up and accidentally choking him. “Laurent,” he says again. “Laurent, you’re– I’m…”

Laurent makes a questioning noise, the head of Damen’s cock still in his mouth, then pulls nearly off to flick his tongue against the slit of his cock and that’s it, Damen’s done for, all he can do is choke out, “I’m coming,” in a strangled voice, before he’s shooting all over Laurent’s face.

Laurent sputters, clearly having expected more warning than that, and manages to close his eyes.

Damen stares at him. He should… he should apologize. That’s what he should do right now. Laurent still has his eyes closed, raising one hand to swipe through the mess on his face, and Damen can only stare, because he simultaneously feels horrible for not giving Laurent more warning while also feeling like the sight of Laurent, on his knees, looking up at him and wearing his come on his face is one of the hottest things Damen has ever seen and he needs to commit it to memory.

“I’m so sorry,” Damen finally says.

Laurent squints up at him. “You don’t look very sorry,” he says, swiping at his face and then wrinkling his nose as he looks at the mess that’s just been transferred to his hand.

“I’m incredibly sorry,” Damen says.

Laurent swats his clean hand at Damen’s leg. “Find me something to clean up with!”

Nik has a box of kleenex on his desk, probably in case a kid started crying or something, and Damen stands up so he can grab a handful and hand them to Laurent.

Laurent wipes at his face carefully, then holds his hand out for more kleenex, which Damen dutifully hands to him. “I really am sorry,” Damen says again. He pulls his pants back up, fastening his belt and trying to tuck his shirt back in. It doesn’t look like any of it got on Laurent’s clothes, at least.

Laurent gives him a baleful look and says, “Pineapple.”

It takes Damen a minute to connect that back to the discussion they’d had about safe words the night they met, but when he does he winces. “I really didn’t mean to, but it’s totally my bad. I’ll make it up to you.”

Laurent looks like he’s considering that. “How?”

“Anything you want,” Damen says.

“What if I want to fuck you over this desk while we pretend  _ I’m _ the principal?”

Not what Damen was expecting, but... “Sure,” he says. “I’m just not sure we have time for that right now.”

Laurent purses his lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something better.”

Damen’s apprehension must show on his face, because Laurent smirks at him before turning towards the door. Damen checks to make sure everything looks in order before following him. While he  _ is _ a bit nervous about what Laurent will come up with, it’s an excited kind of nervous. Whatever it is, it’s sure to be amazing. Almost as amazing as Laurent himself is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic wouldn’t be here without stillwaterseas. ❤️
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read and commented and kudosed! I treasure every single comment.
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter @niniblack_ ! (I’m way more active there than tumblr.)


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